


Claimed

by EleanoRambaldi (EleonoRambaldi)



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Dom/sub, F/F, sub!quinn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:29:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EleonoRambaldi/pseuds/EleanoRambaldi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At 18 years old Quinn Fabray was sorted to be a slave. Since then many tried to claim her but no one succeded. D/s, sub!Quin</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Infamous Quinn Fabray

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: in this world D/s relationship are the norm. If this is not your thing don't read, I won't be offended, I promise. If you go on expect some violence, sex and maybe some grammar mistakes (I try to avoid them and spellcheck my work but english is not my first language). Feel free to comment for better or worse.

The cab driver waited until she somehow crawled out of his car and then left without looking back. She could barely stand on her own, her back throbbed and she winced every time she had to put the foot on the ground but at least, now, she was home.

She lived on the third floor and usually walked up the stairs, but that day she knew if she had tried to climb them she would have fainted on her way up, so she took the elevator. While the small cabin shook and trembled rising up, she rested her forehead on the dirt wall, short blond hair falling in front of her eyes. She didn't dare to lift a hand to move them, fearing it would be impossible for her to move her shoulders at all. The elevator's shakes made her feel even more sick than before: it was a good thing she hadn't eaten in at least two days or she would be throwing up in that same moment.

She reached her door and opened it, no key needed, and she unfastened the raincoat belt letting it fall on the floor. Completely naked she walked to her bedroom and cautiously laid down, her back protesting at every single movement. She didn't dare to go under the covers, fearing the blanket's weight could irritate her back even more, so she just laid over it, head buried in the pillow, feeling some relief as she lifted her leg up from the ground.

She stayed still for some moments, hoping that a dreamless sleep would come immediately, but the heat in her back kept her conscious, so she reached over the bedside table where she had left a couple of white pills the day before. She grabbed them but then thought better of it and left one behind. She swallowed it without water. The simple gesture of getting her head up to take the pill made her feel like she was on a boat in the center of a storm. She grunted hoping the pill would work quickly.

It didn't.

* * *

She heard the click of her door when it opened and then the familiar light steps getting closer to her room. She could sense Santana's presence and almost feel her shadow on her body. The other woman waited a few seconds, probably checking her reddened back, and then touched her cheek.

"You're burning Quinn!"

The blonde grunted something in response. Santana's finger moved quickly over her bruised back, just above the marks the whip had left on her skin, feeling the heat emanating from her friend, trying to asses the extent of her injuries: the whipping didn't seem too severe by Quinn's standards but the fever was unusual.

"You have to stop this."

The blonde was in no mood for one of Santana's sermons. Her head was pounding and her brain threatened to blow out of her eyes. She heard the Latina exit the room and then, after a few moments, coming back to her. She sat on the bed with a glass of water and a straw.

"Drink, I've put some aspirin in it."

Santana held her head up until she had drank all the water and murmured her thanks. Santana brushed Quinn's hair away in a gentle, caring, gesture.

"I thought this was supposed to be an easy one."

"It was. I'm ok." Quinn was trying to keep her eyes open but she couldn't stand the light.

"Yeah, I can see that, you're perfectly fine! Peachy! I swear if I have to claim you myself to take you out of this, I will do it!"

"No, you won't." Quinn left no space for debate "And now, please, shut up or leave, San."

The Latina bit the inside of her mouth fighting the urge to beat some sense into her friend. There were times when Quinn Fabray was simply the stupidest woman on the planet. She got up and went to the bathroom to wet a towel she laid on the blonde's back. The cold fabric made her shiver and then sigh in relief.

"Try to sleep, asshole, we're gonna talk later."

* * *

Quinn woke up a few hours later. She was cover ed with her sheets and Quinn imagined that, at some point, Santana had come into her room to take away the wet towel. She lingered a minute on the bed, doing a quick check-up of her conditions. The headache was gone and her back seemed fine although a bit sore; her fever had also dropped and, all things considered, she seemed to be in good conditions. Nevertheless it took her almost five minutes to get up from the bed and beat the stiffness of her own body, and when she put her foot on the ground the sudden pain almost made her fall.

"Shit!"

She saw a pair of loose pants and a t-shirt that Santana left for her on the bed. She had chosen light clothes that wouldn't irritate her already sore skin. Quinn dressed and then, leaning on every furniture and wall she could find, she made it to the other room where a distracted Santana was reading a magazine. The Latina lifted her head up and saw Quinn leaning on the corner, studying a path for her to reach the table, but furniture and walls were too far.

Quinn raised her head too. "Are you gonna make me ask?" The Latina smiled, tilting her head. "Fine. Can you please help me San?"

"Sure, why not."

With the help of her friend Quinn made it to the couch where Santana told her she was expecting the doctor to arrive soon.

"I don't need a doctor."

"Of course, silly me, it's just ok to have a fever like you had, and that wound on your foot will surely heal on its own while you walk on it and go back into the game."

Quinn looked pale, and had dark circles around her beautiful hazel eyes and it was not all due to the previous night. It had been months of her falling apart, at least since Raphael had laid his eyes on her.

Santana took her chin turning her head around. "Damn, Q. You look like hell."

"Thanks."

"I'm serious. What did he do to you?"

"Nothing." The Latina arched her eyebrows. "Usual stuff, whip, rope, chain... nothing to worry about."

Santana was about to reply when a knock on the door called her.

It was a small dark haired man with a comic big nose on which he balanced a pair of thin glasses.

"My name is Lucas Krovitch, I'm a doctor. I believe someone called me?"

"Yes, I called you, sir. My name is Santana Lopez. Please, come in."

She welcomed him into the house and presented Quinn.

"I would like you to check on her, please. She has been feverish and has some wound I would like you to look."

Quinn didn't like when her friend took control with the guests like it was her own house, but she knew the Latina did it for her sake. There were plenty of people who didn't like to talk to or, worse, receive orders, from a slave. Having Santana around and pretending it was all her idea was simpler.

"Can you please stand up girl?"

Girl or slave was the common term free people used for the ones like her. Quinn often wondered what it would be like to be 40, or 60 and still be called girl.

Quinn tried to get up when Santana's grasp on her shoulder put her down on the couch. "Actually" The Latina said "she can't. That's one of the reasons I called you. Under the right foot" She specified.

The doctor sat on the low table and bent to look at her sole.

"I see... You're right, nasty wound, and vicious too. Did you do that to her?"

"No." Quinn answered immediately feeling the urge to defend Santana from this insinuations.

"Good, I advise against foot torture. Although I seem to understand it is common practice, around here, feet wounds are hard to heal. This one..." He examined closer the wound parting the two flaps of skin and making Quinn wince. "Was it a knife?" The blonde nodded. "Was it cleaned afterwards?"

Quinn didn't think that pouring vinegar on her wound would be in fact "cleaning" it, but it was considered a way of disinfecting it so, yes, the wound was cleaned.

"Seems ok to me. Of course, it's in a bad place, so I think you should put something on it to accelerate the healing. Can I see your back now?"

Quinn didn't move, taken by surprise by his request. "By the way you move, or rather, don't move, I take it you've been whipped, right? I'd like to cover my bases. I don't want to be accused of being sloppy."

"I'm fine."

"Sorry if I don't take your word for it, but I do have a medical degree and I'd like to see with my own eyes."

When Quinn was with one of her claimers her mind was ready for it, but now, out of the context, in her own house, having a small man talking to her like that made her blood boil. Santana squeezed her shoulder before she could do something stupid, forcing her to turn at the same time, so the doctor could see her back. The little man lifted her t-shirt; despite his rough ways, his touch was very gentle and kind.

"I owe you an apology girl, you really seem fine: whipped, but ok."

"I might have no medical degree" Quinn answered "but I've been a slave long enough to know this kind of things."

The Latina tensed at Quinn's remark. That was exactly the kind of behavior that got her into troubles in the first place. And she hadn't learned anything yet. The doctor frowned looking at her with more interest, as if that remark had sparked up something in his mind.

"You're that Quinn, aren't you? Fabray."

"Do we know each other?"

"You don't" the doctor quickly glanced and then returned to his task, grabbing her arm and taking a closer look at the area around her elbow. "But I do know you: the infamous Quinn Fabray, everyone in the medical department knows your name, girl."

"I guess I'm famous."

"You are, although most people wouldn't be proud of the adjectives we associate with your name: the untamed painslut... What is this?" The doctor switched topic as soon as he spotted a small red circle on her skin.

"He injected me with something."

"He injected you?" Santana asked with concern. The doctor ignored her.

"I bet you felt light headed, had nausea, stomach-ache? Am I right?" He asked, taking a syringe from his bag and when Quinn nodded he continued "You're not the first one, I've seen this method before although it's usually more common in Asia than here. It's nothing serious, probably, just something to make you temporally sick and unsettle you, but I will draw some blood and run some tests just to be sure."

Quinn turned her head as the needle entered her arm.

"Is Quinn Fabray scared of needles?" He asked smirking.

"No, I'm... just a reflex, I guess." She answered turning again and facing both the doctor and the blood slowly filling the vial.

"I can't believe that on my first week on a new district I got you."

"Tonight you will have something to brag about to your friends, doctor." Again, Santana fighted the urge to hit Quinn on her head like you'd do with a child who didn't behave.

"I can usually brag" he emphasized the last word with his tone of voice "about more important things than this, girl." He took her chin moving her head left and right, studying it. "Do you eat?"

"Plenty."

"Doesn't look like it. Eat more! " The doctor didn't waste more words than necessary, he was bluntly direct. "Is there anyone who can take care of you?" The doctor asked.

"That would be me." Santana answered.

"Is she your sub?"

"Oh God, no!"

"Said the one who threatened to claim me yesterday." Murmured Quinn, shooting a cocky look to the Latina.

"Shut up Q!" Santana turned her attention to the doctor "We're... friends."

The little man nodded. People were sorted at the age of 18 when many personal bonds were already formed, so it wasn't so strange, for some dominants and submissives, to mantain the relationships they had before, whether simple friendships or love affairs.

"Put this cream on her foot once a day, it will help the healing and prevent infections." The man instructed. "Keep the wound clean and dry, I recommend waterproof bandages just to be safe. If it itches put some ice on it, if the redness doesn't go away by tomorrow evening or if the wound feels like throbbing, then call me."

"Thanks doc. I'll walk you to the door."

"Keep your foot up, girl!" He said with a severe look to Quinn, before leaving the room.

As he approached the door he slowed down, hesitating.

"I realize this is an extra, non-requested, advice, miss, but that girl could use some real rest." He slid an orange bottle full of pills into Santana's hands. "Dissolve one of this in a glass of water, it will put her out for at least eight hours. I will report her damaged foot, this will hopefully give her a week off."

No, it wouldn't. Quinn's list was too long for a simple foot to get in the way of her claimers. The Central Direction would sent an alert on her condition and ask the official sent to her session to pay particular attention to it. And that would be that.

Santana thanked the doctor and slipped the pills in her pocket. Returning to the room she saw Quinn sitting on the couch, head resting on the back with her eyes closed. She looked at her with concern: things were never great for her friend since she was sorted as a submissive, but in the last few years they got worst. Her stubborn refusal to surrender and her high pain tolerance made her life a living hell. She sighed: Quinn would never break, but if she kept on going down this road someone might end up killing her while trying.

"Let's take care of this foot." Quinn's eyes snapped open to see Santana sitting on the table in front of her, taking her foot and spreading the cream over her wound.

"You don't need to do that, San, I can take care of myself."

"No, you can't; you're the fucking living proof that you can't take care of yourself so shut up and let me help you."

Santana's hands were practical and precise while she bandaged her friend. She had done it so many times that Quinn, joking, called her nurse.

"Don't get mad, San." There was the hint of a plea in Quinn's voice that didn't go unnoticed and stung the Latina's heart.

"Stop being such an idiot and I will stop being mad at you."

"I told you..."

"Yes, you told me, and I told you, and we keep telling each other the same things over and over, except that I'm right and you're wrong but you're such an asshole that you don't see it."

Quinn grabbed her friend's hand moving her thumb over it, trying to calm her down.

"I'm worried about you Q."

"I know. Don't be."

They stared at each other for a while. Santana was Quinn's best friend, she always was. They used to rule the school, back in the days, before the sorting, and after that, even if Santana was chosen to be a dominant and Quinn a submissive, the Latina never left her side and stayed true to their friendship. Unlike so many others of their old friends did.

"When was the last time you ate?"

"I'm pretty sure they attached me to an IV at some point yesterday."

"I meant proper food, not just sugar and vitamins injected in your veins, do you remember food? The thing you need to chew and swallow, and it usually has a taste?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Too bad, because you're going to eat anyway."

The Latina helped her up to the kitchen. Quinn's house was bigger than the typical slave house: it had a larger room with a kitchen and a small lounge, a bedroom and a nice large bath with a bathtub. It was a compensation for the time when one of the first dominants who tried to claim Quinn went too far, breaking her arm.

Santana moved in the familiar kitchen preparing just some crackers and cheese. She wasn't sure how much Quinn's stomach could handle and decided to go easy. Quinn's first bite was tentative, forced, but as she chewed she realized she was indeed hungry and ate it all in a few minutes.

"Here, take this too." Santana gave her a glass of juice where she had dissolved the sleeping pills. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm ok, I've told you. He was just a wannabe, an amateur at best."

"And yet you're feverish and you can't walk like a decent human being."

"I could walk, it's just that you don't let me!" Answered Quinn opening another packet of crackers.

"And the fever?"

"I'll give it to him: nobody ever tried that before. Making me sick was a first, but it didn't work anyway."

"Jesus, Quinn, do you hear yourself talk? This is not a joke. A moron like him, who doesn't know what he's doing, could easily kill you without even realizing it."

"It won't happen."

"Like hell, Q. Your reputation goes far beyond national borders. They talk about you in Europe and Japan. Claimers are piling up and I expect the Central Direction to cut your recovery days soon. There are just too many people who want to try you."

"So? I guess they will."

Santana sighed in frustration. "I swear, if I didn't know you better I'd say you're retarded Quinn! If you keep this up you're gonna die. Is that what you want?"

"If I die I will die as a free woman, if I live I'll live as a free woman. I'm not submitting, you should know that."

"This is insane. You're far beyond my reach now, your name is too popular, I can't control who wants to get on your list."

"I know."

"Then listen to me, please! You've seen some of those people, they're... nut jobs! You attract the worst, girl, and there are a lot of worst in this world."

"I know that too." Quinn's tone didn't change, it was calm, just a bit tired.

"Look, I know some people, they're decent human beings, they will treat you with respect, let you do your own thing, you can have a nice life. Woman or man, just name it, I've checked them all out. Just submit to them and stop this nonsense."

"No."

Quinn didn't leave much room for a debate, as usual. They had that conversation every month, more or less, and it always ended the same way, but this time Santana wasn't letting it go.

"Do you know there are bets on you?" That caught Quinn by surprise. "Yep, bets, sweetie, lot of money at stake. They are betting on who will be the one to break you. The rates are so high even the wannabes enter the competition just for the sake of it, trying to make a name for themselves or get the money. For God's sake, Quinn, they will do anything to you to win."

"Calm down San."

"No, I'm over calming down. You need to find an owner, now!"

"That is not gonna happen."

Silence fell between them. San was struggling with herself, she did have another card to play, but it was really her last one.

"Look, I've talked to Britt."

"San..."

"No, let me finish."

"San, please, my head is spinning, I..."

"Shit!" Santana barely reached her friend grabbing her hands and stopping her from falling on the ground. She dissolved two sleeping pills on Quinn's juice, thinking that, given her tolerance to medicine, it would be the right dose, but those pills seemed to be stronger than she thought.

"Nice job, San, drugging your best friend! No, no, I'm not talking to you sweetie, let's get you to bed. Come on!"

She dragged her friend into the bedroom, laying her down on her side. When she reached to comb her short hair Quinn was already asleep. Santana covered her up with a light blanket and left a note on the bedside table, just in case she woke up before her return.


	2. Pregnant

_If she had known how her life would turn out, Quinn Fabray would have chosen her friends more carefully during school._

_Of all those people who laughed with her, talked to her, joked with her, just two stuck around when times got rough. Some of them disappeared when she got pregnant, the rest stopped acknowledging her existence the moment the powers that be sorted her as a submissive for the rest of her days. But up until that moment her life was meant to be a success._

_There wasn’t a name for what she had, many called it power but it wasn’t really that: it was confidence, intelligence, courage, determination. She had this aura around her, something that made her look as though she belonged to another existential level. You didn’t wanna mess with Quinn Fabray, really, you didn’t, and you probably still don’t._

_The teachers, and her classmates as well, they all thought she had a brilliant life ahead of her. She was going to be sorted as a dominant, go on with her studies and end up being a lawyer, a CEO of whatever, a doctor, an astronaut, an astrophysics or math genius, and then she would choose politics and end up... president of the galaxy, for all they knew. She was destined to be great, one of the greatest, actually, and everyone who was lucky enough to be in the same room with her, even once in their lifetime, would know that._

_But things didn’t turn out as they were supposed to be._

_She screwed it all up._

_Having sex before being sorted was severely prohibited. Of course, like many things that weren’t allowed, it was actually common knowledge that many of the school kids weren’t virgins anymore by the time they were sorted. It was hypocritical, but as long as everybody pretended to respect the law, it wasn’t a problem. What was a problem, instead, was getting knocked up, ending up pregnant, and making it obvious that the you had broken the law. And in a society where law had to be strictly applied to maintain order and control among the slave population, no exception was allowed, not even for the “chosen ones”._

_She knew that, and she definitely wasn’t naive enough to believe she could be forgiven just because she was Quinn Fabray, the one the teachers worshipped, hoping she would remember them when she would be in charge._

_She knew, from the moment she realized she was pregnant, that it meant serious troubles, possibly even the end of life as she knew it. For weeks she went through an emotional rollercoaster: she was worried, and edgy, depressed then excited, dreamy and rebellious, and angry, and angry some more, but most of all she was scared, scared like hell. She came to the point of thinking about extreme solutions, but for the first time in her life, she found out that there was something she couldn’t do even if she wished she could: end her own life. Standing with a knife just above her wrist she realized Quinn Fabray wasn’t a quitter, no matter what; Quinn Fabray didn’t give up. Never. Ever._

_Santana was there, all the time, and even if she spent most of her days telling her how incredibly stupid she had been, the Latina never left her side. She let it go for the first days, letting Quinn cope on her own, but after a while, seeing her friend spin around without accomplishing anything, she came up with a possible solution. Of course Quinn had thought about it too, but getting rid of an unborn baby wasn’t really that simple. Abortion was illegal for underage girls, and sure as hell no doctor would risk their license (or worse, breaking the law) just for some dumb ass blondie. No real doctor, at least, because, as Santana pointed out, there were other options: the almost doctors, the students, or the ones who failed or dropped out of med school after taking some classes (how many of those classes was usually just a guess. Did they ever go past the general higene class? Did they even know who to properlyclean their hands before taking a scalpel? Did they actually know how to use one of those things without killing the patient?)_

_Quinn never asked how Santana got that contact: it was a friend of a friend of somebody she used to know, or something like that. Quinn didn’t really care, she was just glad that San brought that topic up, saying it out loud, because she was too afraid of even pronouncing the word. It was stupid, of course, but she couldn’t help but think of all the stories they used to tell each other when they were kids, spending their time in the back yard. Tales of horror, and blood, that all ended with the horrible death of the stupid girl who got pregnant._

_But, of course, those were just kids’ stories. Or at least that was what she kept repeating herself, even while she and Santana went to see the supposed so called doctor._

_It happened an afternoon, after school, on a very hot day. Quinn wore a white shirt and a dark blue skirt that complimented her figure. She was a beauty, she knew that, and she didn’t do anything to hide it from the world. Her long blonde hair fell softly on her shoulders as she walked along the street, confident as usual. On the outside no one would have guessed something so big was going on with her, she seemed the same Quinn Fabray, next-to-be-ruler-of-the-world as usual._

_The appointment was near the theatre, in a place so exposed and central that both of them thought they might have the wrong address. How was it possible to keep illegal activities so out in the open?_

_“Best place to hide is in plain sight” Explained to them Jonas, the wannabe doctor who turned out to be a much better mechanic than a surgeon. “Don’t worry, it’s not like this is going to be my first time.”_

_Jonas was in his 40s, going onto 50. He had a grey hair and a neglected beard and Quinn couldn’t help but notice his tired face, wondering if that was his regular expression for dumb teenagers or if he was just tired of life, in general._

_“How does it work?” She asked, trying to sound as confident as possible._

_“How many weeks?”_

_“I don’t know... a couple of months?”_

_The man nodded. “Then it’s already pretty big, we have to drag it out.” He pointed to the blue chair in the room, next to a metal table. “You sit, open your legs, I stick a tube in you and suck it out. Depending on how much that little thing hangs on to his life it may take one, two, or three hours. You should rest after, you will need someone to look after you because you’re probably going to lose some blood, especially if I have to use medical pliers.”_

_Quinn paled and lost her balance, stepping back in shock._

_“Don’t be so shocked kid, next time think before opening your legs for a guy!”_

_“Hey!” Santana stepped up positioning herself between the man and her friend “Wannabe doctors who run illegal businesses don’t get to lecture us, ok?”_

_The men man shrugged turning away from them. “1.000 dollars. Cash. Before I start, or you can go back from where you came.”_

_“What a good Samaritan you are!” Santana told him coldly, turning her back to him to check on Quinn._

_“If you don’t like my manners go find someone else, otherwise pay up and shut up.”_

_Quinn squeezed Santana’s hand. “Can we go?” She murmured. “Please?” Her voice lower and softer than Santana   had ever heard it before._

_That abortion plot had gotten under Quinn’s skin more than she thought. The Latina nodded and took led her out, but not before shooting an evil glance glare to at the man who laughed at her and returned to his filthy business._

* * *

 

_They walked silently for a while. Santana was keeping her arm wrapped around Quinn’s waist and could tell, by the way she was staring blankly in front of her, that she was trying to process the whole thing. The Latina wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing. She hoped Quinn realized that, no matter how terrifying it looked, the alternative was much worse._

_She walked Quinn to her dorm room and looked at her with concern._

_“Are you sure you’re ok?”_

_“I just need a little time, San, I’m fine.”_

_Quinn closed the door behind her before her friend could say something that would break her up for good. She had never been so scared in her life. That place, that tired, sad, man, what he said he would do... She wished she was stronger, but she wasn’t; she wished she didn’t know what to do, but she did; she wished she could say it was for selfless reasons, that she couldn’t kill her own baby, but it was pure survival instinct. She knew now that most of the kids’ stories were true: if she had to choose abortion she would probably end up dead in some unknown, crappy apartment, near a theatre, on a dirty blue chair, bleeding out her life._

_She wasn’t ready to die._

_Later, that night, Britt knocked on her door. She knew Quinn and Santana were off together that afternoon but didn’t have a clue about what was really going on, and yet, in her own way, she had sensed something was happening. She stepped into the room even though she heard no invitation to do so from inside, and found Quinn curled up in her bed._

_“Are you ok Q?” She got closer, kneeling next to the bed, trying to intercept her friend’s lost gaze . “Are you sad?”_

_As if those words trigged something inside her, Quinn started to cry._

_“Oh, sweetie.” Britt climbed on the bed, wrapping her friend in a tight embrace._

_Brittany was truly an exceptional human being, the only one Quinn let in when her walls were all down, when she couldn’t hold it in anymore. She never asked questions and, unlike her girlfriend Santana, she never judged her. She was simply there, ready to hold her all night long if she needed to, until she had no more tears to cry and she could build her defensive walls back up. Brittany’s arms were her recovery cocoon: in there she didn’t need to be strong, she could just be._

* * *

_“You have to be kidding me, right?”_

_“I’m not.” Quinn and Santana were having lunch at school. The Latina was trying hard to control her anger and her voice but she wasn’t really succeeding. “I’ve thought about it and I made my decision.”_

_“Then think again, because either you’re high on something or the shock turned you crazy. There is no way a person in their right mind would choose to carry the baby to term.”_

_“Can you...”_

_“What? Be there for you? No way Q, I’m not gonna stand by and watch while you go all suicidal like this. Because you know what is going to happen right?”_

_“I’m gonna keep the baby, soon it will show up, everybody will know I’ve broken the law. There will be questioning, confinement, and eventually I will give birth to a child. Yes, I know how it works.” Quinn sighed, trying to avoid the real issue._

_“Sure, and after that, what? You come back to school and hope things go back the way they were? The way they are now? The sorting will be just a few months after you pop out that little monster of yours, do you really think you’ll get away with it?”_

_“I’m... I’m good, they will...”_

_“No, they won’t, and you know it. No matter how promising you are, you might be the Goddess herself, they won’t care. They will sort you to be a submissive, and you’re not meant to live like that, Q. God, I bet you’ve never even conceived the thought of it.”_

_“I’m not killing my baby!” It wasn’t the real reason behind her decision, but Quinn was not going to admit to her best friend that her decisions were based on the fear of dying._

_“Then this baby is going to kill you because, I’m telling you Quinn, you won’t last a day as a slave!”_

_That part was true, even the seventeen year old Quinn knew it: if she had to become a slave she would die, no question about that. There was no way she would bow her head to some of those dicks she knew and who used to be her friends; no way she would silently accept stupid orders just because she had to; no way she would let anyone think they had power over her. She didn’t really had much choice, she knew that._

_“I’ve made my decision.”_

_“Fine. So have I.” Santana got up, planting her fists on the table and moving dangerously close to her face. “I don’t want you around me or Britt anymore. I don’t want to hear your voice or your footsteps around me; I don’t want to feel your filthy presence and I don’t want you to breathe the same air I breathe, do you understand me, blondie?”_

_“Come on…”_

_Santana hit the table hard startling Quinn, and when she spoke again her voice was a harsh whisper close to her face._

_“If you do as so much as saying a world to Britt or meeting my gaze in the hallway, I swear I will beat the crap out of your skinny ass, Fabray.”_

_“San...” In all her life Santana never gave Quinn her angry look but now, their faces so close that their breaths melted together, Quinn realized really, for the first time, how intimidating that girl could be._

_“Don’t San me, Fabray, as of now you’re dead to me.”_

* * *

 

Santana entered her apartment quietly, closing the door behind her. She wasn’t really surprised to find her friend in the lounge, looking at her.

“Britt says hi.” Santana sat on the couch. “She wanted to cook you some sort of diabolical cake but I sent her to get my stuff from the office so I guess I saved your life. Once again.”

Quinn smiled. “She’s not that bad.”

“Please Q, I love her and all, but that woman couldn’t cook if her life depended on it. We pretty much live on take-out, and I bet that, sooner or later, the local restaurants will have our pictures on the walls. We gave them so much money I’m sure we could actually have bought at least an Italian, a Mexican and a Chinese restaurant. Speaking of which...” Santana took Quinn’s hand “...time to put something in that belly of yours.”

“Geez San, you’re obsessed with it.”

“And you’re so skinny I can almost see through you. Come on, it’s on me, choose whatever you want, put on something decent and let’s go out. The sun is shining, birds are chirping, flowers are blossoming and all that shit I know you like, so don’t be grumpy and get your ass up.”

“I’m not really sure I can put my foot on the ground yet...”

That morning, getting up, her foot was itchy and it still stung when she tried to walk on it. It was recoverin fast, thanks to the cream the doctor prescribed, but it wasn’t nearly ok.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Santana shook her head “Of course you can’t, you’re going to use crutches.”

“Like I’m some kind of cripple? No thanks.”

“You are crippled, idiot, that’s what the crutches are for. It’s either this or I’ll have to carry you on my back and, ok, you’re skinny, but not so skinny that I can carry you around all day. So get over with it.”

Quinn smiled. Santana was the only person in the world who had the strength, the right and the will to talk to her straight, without filters. Her peers were too scared, the dominants too presumptuous in their superiority, and Britt was simply too good and loved her too much to be so honest in  pointint out all her mistakes. That left only the Latina.

“Fine. Help me up, please.”

 


	3. Raphael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One side note: on this chapter (and later on) you might find medical references in the writing. I do not know a thing about medicine, my knowledge relyes on me watching Dr House, so don't take me too seriously ;)

When they walked back to her apartment Quinn was as close to happiness as she had been in the last months. They ate at Marco's, an Italian place Santana and Brittany discovered years before. It was a family business, a small and welcoming place that accepted dominants, submissive and, most important of all, submissive who came alone. It wasn't that common to find a nice place where Quinn could go on her own, so when they found it, it was immediately clear to them that it was going to become one of Quinn's favorite places. In those days too many public places were concerned on good reputation so, to keep high standards, they accepted only submissive if they were with some dominants. They didn't have to be owned, of course, they could be just friends, or work in the same place, still they couldn't go in on their own.

Marco and his family, tough, weren't concerned by the looks of their places. As long as they had a license and the right to be open, they would choose clients only with one criteria: do I like you? Go in, otherwise don't slam the door on your way out.

Needless to say that they liked Quinn and the witty remarks she told to the few who tried to approach her the wrong way.

"I don't get it: why when me and B go to Marco's we didn't get the this extra bag with leftovers?" Santana was carrying a white bag with what was left of their lunch.

"Because you scare people."

"Ow, come on, this is not fair. I've always been nice to Marco."

"And that's the reason you're allowed in his place. But let's face it San, I'm nicer and definitely a lot prettier then you" she smirked "so I get the extra bag."

Quinn was walking slowly up the stairs with the crutches. She was getting good at it even if she didn't like to be so obviously exposed in her weakness. Santana was a couple of steps behind her, making sure she couldn't fall.

"Remind me again why don't we take the elevator?" She asked annoyed.

"Because you need to work out and fix that fat ass of yours!"

"If you weren't crippled I would kick your ass right now!"

"You wish!"

They made it to the third floor where Quinn was living and found a man standing in front of her door. He was wearing the Central Direction dark green uniform.

"0157C?" He asked.

Unclaimed slaves were referred to by number codes when it came to official business.

Quinn nodded and took the yellow envelope he gave her before leaving quickly down the stairs. Another claimer.

She entered and sat on the couch to open it, her expression neutral as she read the letter, like it wasn't something concerning her.

"When?" The latina asked coming closer.

"In two days." Replied dryly. As Santana thought the foot wound didn't grant Quinn any extra day off.

"Who?"

The blonde didn't answer but gave the letter to her friend.

"Shit!"

Raphael's name was written in bold on the first line. He asked for his third claim attempt and he got her exactly two months after the previous one: no waiting line for him, Raphael got what Raphael wanted. Every time.

Santana sat next to her friend pulling her close without saying a world. There were very few things that could get Quinn scared, and Raphael was one. He was in his 30, a nice looking man, good family, decent lawyer. Santana met him a year before as she was trying to befriend one of his clients. She knew from the moment she saw him that he was a sick bastard. It was his smile, the way he could stare at you without blinking or showing emotions, the way he snapped his fingers and everyone around him moved to his wishes. He was feared, even among those who were supposed to be his closest friends and co-workers.

Santana kissed Quinn's head.

Last time, on his second claim, her friend barely made it through. Raphael didn't take too well when, after their first appointment, she refused to be claimed by him and he made sure, the second time, Quinn had to face a living hell. He was confident he could break her, bring her to the point where she would have begged for him to stop accepting every condition he'd say, even his ownership. What Raphael didn't realize, though, was that the more you pushed Quinn, the more she hardened and fought back. He kept her up 48 hours straight, not even allowing the luxury of fainting, always careful to push to the edge, finding her limits, bringing Quinn there every single time. He was that talented in inflicting pain.

Quinn didn't came back on her own that time, she was brought back by Central Direction officers who left her on the couch barely conscious. It took her days just to be able to stand on her own. But, of course, despite the amount of pain he inflicted he was very careful to avoid permanent damage and, since he didn't break the law, nothing prevented him from asking for his third claim.

Santana was really worried, that psycho didn't know how to take a "No" and, unfortunately, Quinn already said that to him two times. She was sure it was more than his ego could handle.

There wasn't anything Santana could do to stop the claiming, and there wasn't anything she could say to help Quinn. Nothing at all. All she could do was being there for the next days as Quinn hid into herself, building walls as high as she could,

Santana hoped those walls were strong enough.

 

* * *

 

Two days later Quinn walked to his place. It was more than an hour walk but she needed that time to prepare herself. Santana tried to give her some meds to numb her enough to go through it but Quinn refused. She knew her mind was going to get blurry soon enough and without any external help, and she wanted to stay in control for as long as possible.

Raphael's place was a nice cottage surrounded by a garden and a metal fence. When rang the bell an officer from Central Direction welcomed her. It was a woman and she witnessed her claims before, at least a dozen times. The woman escorted her in the house where Raphael was waiting for her, sitting on the couch.

"As rules require I'd like to remind you the terms of this claim." The woman started "This is the third and last chance for Mr Shinezar to claim the slave Quinn Fabray. The slave will stay in his house, subjected to his will, for 72 hours. Within this time Mr Shinezar can ask the slave to willingly submit to end the claim. If she does, he will became her only owner. As of now the slave is unclaimed thus to be considered public property and, as the law states, no permanent damage on public property will be tolerated. In addition to that the Central Direction states that the slave is in no perfect condition and he won't be considered responsible for the wound on the slave's left foot. Do the both of you understand what I just said?"

"Yes." Quinn answered. She was trying not to look scared but it was hard. She was feeling her blood rush through her veins and her fingertips crawling, while Raphael seemed perfectly at ease and confident.

"Hence from this moment on I will be a mere observer for the Central Direction to ensure that everything works as the law prescribes"

The woman stepped back disappearing from Quinn's view. She knew that, according to the law, there would be always be someone from the Central Direction on watch to look at her and Raphael, but no one ever interrupted one of her claims, and she started to doubt they were really staying there to control. It was probably just an act for the sake of tradition.

He didn't waste any time and gestured for her to follow, walking toward the basement she already knew.

"I've made a few changes since your last time here." He said as he was showing off his house to a friend. "But don't try to catch them all with the first sight, it will spoil my fun to show them to you when time will come."

Raphael made her stop at the center of the room and looked up at the ceiling where a chain was hanging down. "As you see I kept a few old things." He leaned over to whisper in her ear "I love the way your body danced in the air as the whip struck, so I thought we could have a little re-run. What do you say, dear?"

Quinn, again, didn't move or say anything. Her eyes were cast down even if her attention was spinning around the place, trying to catch every single detail to be prepared for everything. Raphael smiled and started to undress her, opening her shirt, one button after the other, sliding the sleeves on her arms, caressing her. He quickly removed her skirt and underwear leaving her completely naked.

"Such a beauty!" He said in amazed whisper "But I will turn you into something even more beautiful, girl. Trust me, I'm an artist." He took the manacles from a table nearby and put them on her, lifting her arms and linking them to the chain pending from the ceiling.

"I've got so many ideas for us, girl" He yanked the chain lifting her from the ground, her weight all on her wrists and shoulders. "So many things and such a short time. It's a pity, my dear, but I guess we'd have to make the best of it." He traced the line of her jaw with his finger. Quinn didn't move. "That's why I thought of bringing some friends to help me."

Quinn flinched briefly but he caught it and smiled. He snapped his fingers and stepped back.

A whip hit her back once, hard, crossing from her left shoulder to her right hip. Then another one hit her in the opposite direction from her right shoulder to her left side. Then again the first, then again the second, in a tight rhythm that didn't left her time to breath between blows. Her body winced and twisted, trying to avoid the whip, but the men kept hitting her restlessly until she stopped to fight back and simply hang, motionless.

Raphael's fingers snapped again stopping the whipping. He grabbed her hair lifting her head.

"Don't you dare play the act with me, girl, this is a child game for you." His voice was a cold hiss now. Quinn looked at him in the eyes. "That's more like it, dear, it's no fun breaking you if I don't see the fire in your eyes."

He snapped his fingers again, and the whipping started back on.

Quinn didn't even tried to count the blows that hit her. She knew they were going to be a lot more than she could handle by the end of her claim. From the moment she walked into his home and saw his face she was certain this time she wouldn't live through it. He had a crazy light in his eyes that she recognized. It was the "no matter what, it will be on my terms" look that she too, once, had.

It was back in her first days as a slave, when she was sent to camp to learn rules and how to serve. She was coming on terms with her new life, trying to understand how to survive without surrendering herself, and she was acting crazy, defying every authority, refusing to obey, stubbornly taking every punishment they gave her only to persist in her behavior.

She though (probably just hoped) that once they realized she would never be a good slave, they could let her live a free life, sent her away where nobody knew her and people could believe she was sorted as dominant regularly. Of course it was a silly teenage dream. What she was doing was nothing new to the camp administrators, many tried the same thing before, stupid teenagers who thought they knew everything. They all thought of themselves as romantic heroes, fighting against all odds for something they alone could see and understand, when, really, they were just tall children who knew nothing of the most common and simple things: limits. Those boys and girls ignored their weakness, worse than that, they didn't think to have weakness at all. And they all end up whimpering and crying.

Quinn too.

"Stay with me, dear, don't drift off." Raphael moved his hand on her tortured back, wiping away the blood dropping from a couple of red wounds. Quinn lifted her head. Maybe she could do it, if she pushed herself so far away from his house that her mind wouldn't be able to feel the connection with her body, maybe, just maybe, she could still be herself at the end of it.

He let the chain go and Quinn fell on the ground. He turned her around, back on the floor, and she winced making him smile.

"Two hours gone, seventy to go, sweetie. Do you think you can do it? Because if you don't, just say the word."

Quinn gathered her strength to turn her head around.

"I hoped you would say so. It would be a shame to end our date so soon, wouldn't it?"

 

* * *

 

White. Blurry white. Dumb pain.

She tried to rub her eyes but her wrists were tied and so was her waist. She tried to weak up, pulling the restraints.

"Calm down" Colored stains moved in front of her, confusing her. "Quinn, look at me! Calm down!" A cold hand touched her cheek, gently turning her head towards the sound. "It's me, Q. It's Britt."

Finally Quinn could see a warm and worried smile standing above her. "It's ok, Quinn, you're at the hospital. I can let you free but you have to stay still or you'll hurt yourself."

Quinn recognized Britt's voice and nodded, her mind still clouded. She felt her friend work on her restraints and as soon as her hands were free she brought them up covering her eyes. Her head felt heavy and slow, and there was too much light for her tastes.

"What happened?" She asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Raphael passed the line and the officer called it off."

It took a moment for the words to sink in but when they did Quinn got agitated.

"The line… what did he do?"

She tried to get up but Britt's hand pushed her back in the bed. "Stay still!" The movement made Quinn suddenly aware of her back, so sensitive that even the contact with cotton sheets made her feel like someone was scratching her with sandpaper.

"Shit!"

"Told you! Stay still!"

Every moment, since she woke, a part of her body came to life protesting in pain or throbbing angrily. She felt her leg twitched involuntary and remembered the sharp pain when he hit her knee. "My leg"

"They x-rayed you, we have to wait for the doctor to know more."

Quinn weighted the words trying to do her own check up. Her leg feel numb but that could be because of the giant ice pack resting on it.

"It was swelling pretty bad, they had to… resize it back to normal!"

Quinn tried again to get up to ease off the discomfort in her back, failing. "Help me turn on mi side, please." She asked.

"The doctor said you shouldn't move."

"The doctor is not here."

"I don't think it's a good id…"

"Britt, please!"

Her friend bit her lip uncertain but she saw Quinn's back and she knew it must really hurt laying on it. She gave up, helping her on her side, but as soon as she settled in the new position the doctor came in and frowned at what she saw.

"I think I specifically told she was supposed to lay on her back." The doctor was a tall, abrupt and skinny woman. She talked to Brittany completely ignoring Quinn.

"I'm here and if you talked to me while I was unconscious I'm pretty sure it doesn't count."

The doctor's grip on her pen tightened at her remark and Britt was forced to step in.

"I'm sorry. It's the med talking, she's not herself." She prayed Quinn would play along and put on her best dumb face. She didn't.

"Turn around, girl, before I make you turn."

Quinn though about telling the woman that her back hurt but then she thought better and stay silent. It was never a good idea to let know a dominant you pissed off where you hurt.

"Is there a problem?" Santana's voice came from the door. Quinn couldn't see her but she could sense in her words her bad and imposing attitude.

"Yes, a big one." The doctor answered. "I gave an order to this girl and I expect her to follow it."

The latina entered the room eyeing Brittany who could do nothing more than shrug. It was Quinn they were talking about, what would they expect? Santana got near the bed and just tilted her head to one side, silently telling her friend this was no time to be her asshole self, and when Quinn reached for her hand to help herself turn, she held her tight until the pained expression on Quinn's face faded away.

Satisfied with the effect the latina had on her patient, the doctor resumed her visit. "Those subs. They all think they know better than doctors." She told Santana making sure Quinn could hear her well "They should know it takes years of study and practice to know which injury is worse and has priority. Pain is not a good meter, rational and educated thinking, instead, is."

The woman took the ice away revealing a knee almost normal size. She moved it around in a way that to Quinn thought it was meant to cause her pain in a sort of childish revenge.

"There is no permanent damage." The woman said after a while " but if this girl need to fully recover it might need therapy and infiltration."

The doctor made sure to underline the if condition. It was clear to her that such a trouble maker wasn't really worth the trouble of a full recovery.

She pushed a button and asked the nurse for a syringe and a medicine. When the nurse came in with them the doctor fastened straps around Quinn's leg.

"I've been told this injury is the result of a claiming so I take she's not yours."

"She's not."

"Then I will have to notify Central Direction, they will make the calls for her."

"Of course." Santana nodded.

As soon as the doctor left the room Santana turned around and slapped Quinn's arm.

"Aww!"

"You're such an idiot, do you really have to make it so hard every time?"

"Shh, San, leave her alone." Britt tried to intercede.

"Don't try to defend her. She's out for hours and when she comes back she pisses off the first dominant she sees. Come on, this is gotta be some sort of record even for an idiotic moron like Quinn Fabray!"

The doctor came back carrying a syringe. "This is for the infiltration in your knee and it's going to enter the bone" She said pointing at the needle "so I suggest you to stay very still."

Quinn faced away. Santana locked eyes with her, holding her shoulder tight. She knew needles were one of the few things that scared her friend, and, although she managed to turn her terror into simple fear over the years, it was still an hard task to her trying to keep control and to not show her weakness.

As the needle enter Quinn grasped the sheets but as soon as it hit the bone her body arched and tears flow down her cheek. It lasted just a few moments but it took all she had not to scream and beg and pray and cry out. When the needle was finally out she let go of Santana's gaze and buried her face, along with her tears, in the cushion.

"Remember your place and maybe next time you will be allowed to have some anesthetic before the needle goes in." Said coldly the doctor leaving the room.

Santana sat on the bed. Brushing away the hairs from Quinn's face. She was angry but not at Quinn, or at least, not that much. She was angry at herself because she knew this was a very close call for her friend, and she couldn't do anything to prevent it.

"Do you remember what happened." She asked to Quinn but her friend shook her head. There were still pictures in her mind, some sounds and a lot of black holes.

"I've talked to the officer assigned to your claim. She said you spit on Raphael and he turned nut hitting your knee with a baseball bat. She was afraid he made you a cripple and called it off, apparently just in time."

Spit on him? That she didn't recall but it might be true. She was so scared of him, so terrified to be more exact, that she might have done something so incredibly stupid even for her standards.

"Tell me, Q, do you have a death wish? Cause it sure looks like it."

The blond didn't answer. "What about him?"

"He got a warning for dangerous behavior against public property but, given what the lack of permanent damage I guess that will be the only consequence."

Quinn closed her eyes. Of course it was all it will happen to him: a slap on his hand and a reprimanding finger pointed at him.

Santana leaned over her and kissed her forehead. "I'm glad you're still alive, idiot" She said in a soft voice "But now let me go, I will have to kiss some asses to get you out on my terms."

Quinn smiled not opening her eyes. She felt Santana's hand slip away and be immediately replaced by Brittany's who sat beside her and hummed her into an unresty sleep state


	4. Calm before the storm

_The months of her pregnancy were probably the worst Quinn Fabray had to go through._

_She saw her best friend, the only one who knew what was going on, turn from her, cutting her off her life. Of course, she had her other friends, but they were not so close and, more importantly, they didn't know what was going on with her and she didn't trust them enough to tell them. She was alone, for the first time in her life, she was truly and absolutely alone._

_She tried to hide her condition as long as she could, wearing larger clothes, skipping out of gym classes with weird excuses, and for a brief time she thought she could get away with it: hide her pregnancy long enough to give birth without anyone knowing._

_She tried to talk to Brittany once, but the girl gave her a sad smile and excused herself saying Santana told her not to speak with Quinn anymore. It hurt her, deeply, knowing not even the sweet B would be there to offer some comfort, and, to get things worse, that day while crossing the allay, she felt an hard push on her back._

_"I thought I was clear with you blondie" Santana took her by surprise and showed her into the wall "but maybe you're too dumb to understand so I'm gonna make it very simple for you." She was very close now, breathing in her face. "Do not talk to me or Brittany, do you understand me?"_

_Quinn's anger rose. She was never bullied and she had no intention to let it start that moment. She pushed back Santana and the Latina didn't take that gesture very well. She pushed back and pinned her to the wall, pressing her arm under her chin forcing Quinn to stay on her tiptoes._

_"I'm being gentle here, blondie, for the old time's sake. But this was your only "get out of jail free" card. Don't make this mistake again."_

_Santana let her go and Quinn fell down, sitting on the ground. Whatever life she thought she had, it was clearly over._

_People didn't know what was going on between the two of them, they assumed it was about a boy, or a girl, or maybe their alley just went wrong and they were fighting to control the school. They didn't care. As long as they were fighting each other they weren't messing around with the other kids. And the kids were fine with that._

_But Quinn wasn't fine, not at all. She missed Santana, more than she ever immagined. She didn't realize it before that moment, but Santana Lopez and her blunt speaking were her outlet. Santana gave her a way to balance herself and without her friend she was boiling up too much and too fast, losing control, spinning around, crying herself to sleep every night while her life slipped through her finger. She became edgy and angry at everything and everyone, even cruel, sometimes. She knew what was coming for her and she tried to get and advanced revange, picking up fights with anyone she could. People started to avoid her, and when the teachers noticed that even her friends were trying to keep distance because of her behaviour, they know something was wrong._

_Her secret didn't last long after that. Two weeks after that, the school administrator ordered her to see the nurse after all her skipped gym classes, and an hour after the appointment she was already sitting in the principal'office._

_  
_

* * *

 

_Santana came to sit next to her, elbows on her knees._

_"So, the administrators found out, uh!"_

_"Be quick, mock me and leave me alone."_

_"Language, Fabray!"_

_"Fuck language and fuck you! If you want to beat the crap out of me try it. I dare you, Lopez, I swear I will give you a black eye before you finish with me."_

_"Dear god, Quinn, you really are a dumb ass!"_

_Quinn got up clenching her fists. She had a terrible day, possible the worst of her life and she wouldn't take any more from her former friend. School administrators just found out about her pregnancy and they weren't particularly happy with it. She spent the whole morning in the principal's office, witnessing a long procession of teachers who repeatedly told her how disappointed they were, and that nothing she will get from that moment on in her life would really be a fit punishment for her behaviour. Then the administrator booked a doctor apointament for her, to officialize what they already knew, and let her know that within two days she would be transferred in a confinement facility until the baby was born. In the meantime Central Direction Underage Section, would take care of her case and decide punishment for breaking the law._

_"Sit down human incubator, I just wanna talk." Santana told her._

_"Why?"_

_"Because I missed talking to my best friend!"_

_"What? Are you out of your mind? After all you put me through?" Quinn was almost screaming by now, her face red from anger._

_"It's called tough love." Santana replied calmly._

_"Really? Is that what you call it?"_

_"What was I supposed to do, held your hand, sing you songs and tell you everything was going to be ok?"_

_"Yeah. For exemple!"_

_"That would have been a lie. And Santana Lopez doesn't lie."_

_"No, she just beats up her best friend."_

_Santana sighed. She didn't expect this conversation to be easy, she didn't expect anything at all, she just thought it was time to come clear because from that moment on things were going to be real hard for Quinn. To say the least._

_"Get your ass down on the stairs Fabray, it's not like you have anywhere else to go, anyway." Seeing that Quinn wasn't moving Santana went on. "Look, I'm not saying I was wrong, what I'm saying is that I had a plan. I though it was brilliant, genius, really, but it turned out it wasn't."_

_"You had a plan." Quinn's voice was cold._

_"I though you didn't really understood what you were going to face and I tried to give you the heads up on what your life was going to be. I hoped it might help you see the light but on that matter you're really blind girl. And also, yea, I thought seeing your friend turn away might give you enough good sense not to trust anyone."_

_"Well, that you got it! I don't trust you Lopez."_

_"Finally some sort of intelligent life is back on your body which, by the way, is gonna look like a balloon pretty soon."_

_"Is there a point here or do you just like to hear the sound of your voice?"_

_"Both." Smirked Santana. "Anyway, I guess that what I was trying to say is that… I care about you Q, and I am your friend. I get you won't trust me for a long time, or ever again, but this does not mean that I'm letting go through the next months on your own."_

_Quinn shook her head. "I don't need you."_

_"Maybe. But you need a ride to the doctor tomorrow, for the check up the school administrator ordered, right?" Quinn bit her lip. "Though so. I'll pick you up at three p.m sharp. Be ready."_

_And with that she left._

_  
_

* * *

 

Quinn didn't knew how many asses Santana had to kiss or how many favours she had to ask, but the day after she was released from the hospital under her responsibility for a full recovery and with a permission to temporally live with her and Brittany.

The ride from the hospital to their home was a little tricky. Doctors took Quinn off the medicine for her dismissal, so she was conscious enough to understand that sitting and facing the whole ride with her back on the seat was not a good idea. They decided to let her lay on the back seat, head in B's lap, but at every bump or curve Quinn winced and Santana silently cursed.

Santana and Britt had a nice house just outside town, with a garden and a pool, and lots of glass windows and doors that Britt loved because they made the house naturally lightened. They also had a guest room, that they kept ready for Quinn, just in case. It was a white and green room that Brittany furnished herself, in which she painted on the walls little green puppets that she insisted to call Slurribabes. God knows why.

Quinn had been there many times before, although she could never stay overnight because of the risks involved. Central Direction officer randomly patrolled the apartments of unclaimed slaves, to check on them and made sure they were there after the curfew. Just few exceptions were allowed, like the one Quinn just got thanks to Santana's strings pulling.

When they finally made it home, they laid her gently on the bed and gave her some sleeping pills while Santana immediately went to call the doctor and when the bell ringed, half an hour later, she opened the door to find the man she asked for.

"Miss Lopez, this is rather unexpected."

"Good morning Doctor Krovitch, please come in." She welcomed him with a smile and let it in the house.

"I've been told you specifically requested me, miss Lopez." He said

"I did. I saw you last time with my friend and I appreciated how you did your work. That's whyI asked for you again."

"You're not the first one." He said with pride. He wasn't a shy or humble person but Santana didn't care. She needed him for one reason only. He walked him to the guest bedroom where a blonde, tiny, form, was lying on the bed on her belly, facing away from the door.

"The infamous Quinn Fabray." The doctor murmured.

"The one and only." Said Santana.

"I've heard that something about her last claim went really wrong."

"It did. That's why I called you, I want you to check on her."

"I bet the doctors at the hospital did a good job and let you know everything you needed."

"Of course, I'm just… covering my bases, asking a second opinion."

The little man nodded smiling. Living in their society was a game of fake politeness. Formalities over all, appearances, respect of roles.

He sat on the bed uncovering Quinn's back.

"Wow." The doctor widened his eyes. The flesh was turning into yellowish and bluish bruises cut buy the angry red marks where the skin was open. "Talking about severe whipping." He stared at her before going back to business. "Anything broken?" He asked tasting Quinn's sides with his fingers, looking for any sign of broken ribs.

"Her ligament. Lateral."

The doctor nodded. "She was lucky, sort of. The knee it's a very delicate area, it could have been worse. She will have to wear a knee brace though."

"I'll get her one."

The doctor continued his visit while Quinn layed on the bed unconscious.

"Is she out by herself or..."

"No, I gave her the sleeping pills you left me last time."

"Good call. I'd suggest you keep on doing that for at least a couple of days. Give her one pill, let her sleep it off and wake up on her own, throw food in her, then another pill and repeat. It would be better if she could sleep with her back down but, given her conditions, I don't think it's possible. Let's try to compromise and make her sleep on her side. As for her knee…" The doctor eyed Quinn's leg "from what I saw at the hospital were right. Therapy and infiltrations should make it right although probably it will take more than a month for full recovery. When the therapist will come try to talk him into teaching you simple techniques and exercises, so you can do them with her after he's gone."

Brittany had joined them and was waiting by the door, silently.

"I will leave you the name of a good kid. He's new to the job but has the kind of passion and sensitivity this case requires." Santana raised an eyebrow wondering what the doctor meant but he didn't give her time to ask. "From what I know about her she will be up and ready to screw things up in a couple of days, but if it is ok with you I'd like to come back in a week to see how she is."

"Sure. Thank you doctor."

"Don't thank me. She was right the first time, she is sort of a celebrity and I like to keep an eye on her, in case I finally decide to bet some money into her breaking."

"Bets are still on?"

"More than ever, miss."

Many thought Raphael , who was known for being a crazy bastard, was going to be the one to break her, but since he failed there were no favourites anymore and the bet rised higher than ever. If you could pick the winning one you could retire and live happily ever after.

"It's probably a good thing." The doctor said answering to the unvoiced worries of the woman in front of him "If it was any other slave the Central Direction might have left her on her own, but since she has such a name and so many claimers… well, let's just say many of those claimers don't want to play with ruined girls; they want her as healthy and challenging as possible."

Santana knew the doctor was right. It was Quinn's blessing and, at the same time, her curse.

 

* * *

 

The days with Santana and Brittany were a dreamy reality for Quinn. It was like going back to school, before all went wrong, when they were just three friends who spent time together.

After dinner they often sat on the couch together, to watch a movie. Usually Brittany cuddled up with Quinn. B was such a touchy person, and a good one too. She kept Quinn in her arms until she fell asleep which it always happened, no matter what they were watching or how tired she was. Tv had that effect on her, it made her sleep like a baby. Santana usually looked at the two of them smiling. She was glad to see the relaxed expression on Quinn's face. She hoped they could stay like that, happily ever after, but she knew that every day was a day closer to the end date of their little heaven.

Therapy was going ok. Thomas, the guy Doctor Krovitch suggested, was indeed a nice and competent man. As soon as he came for the first session Santana knew what the doctor meant when he talked about a certain sensitivity he might have. He was a slave. A late claimed one. He wore a light silver chain around his neck that could be easily taken for simple jewellery if it wasn't for the small lock as a pendant. It was a wise choice to suggest a slave to treat someone like Quinn, someone she didn't need to challenge or defy just to keep up the reputation she built for herself. And, other than that, he was really a fun and caring guy, who spent extra time with Quinn, talking, teaching her relaxing exercise or just telling her fun stories. Santana watched him for a very long time, afraid it might have been some trick, but Thomas was honest in his intention. He was really just a normal, caring, guy who could easily be their friend. He wanted her to keep the brace on always, except when they were doing therapy, because he knew Quinn's rep and he tried to avoid further injuries. He tried to convince her to keep it on after their month together and taught her excercise she could do on her own to help her recovery, but, for all's sake, he taught them to Santana and Brittany as well, just in case Quinn was stubborn or lazy.

Except for Thomas visits it was just the three of them. Spending time together, watching movies, walking Quinn's daily walk, talking and eating at the same table. And it was during one of their lunches, outside, near the willow three, that it came out in the open.

Brittany was talking of a flower she dreamt about the night before, that, apparently, could change colour depending on the mood of the person looking at it, when Quinn suddenly interrupted her.

"Why haven't you claimed her yet?"

"Excuse me?" Santana rose her eyes from the plate.

"I'm asking you why haven't you claimed Britt as your own slave. You've been together since school and it's not a wise choice to let her stay an unclaimed slave. Someone might try to take her."

"First of all, look who's talking of wise choices." Answered Santana "Second of all, they all know she's m…" for a millisecond Quinn's mind raced filling the blanks in, thinking that Santana would say Brittany was hers, like a property, and Quinn's subconscious prepared to frown in disgust. "…y girlfriend. I don't think there's someone stupid enough to challenge our relationship knowing I will travel the world on my knees to find them and kick their asses. So, summarizing all this: it's non of your business Q."

Quinn shook her head. How could she think that Santana was going to refer to the love of her life like she was a simple object? All she went through got under her skin more than she wanted to admit if she was doubting even her best friend.

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry, it doesn't add up anyway. I know you wanted to ask her for ages."

"You know uh? May I ask how would you gather such intelligence on me?"

"Because you speak in your sleep, San!"

The Latina lowered her eyes embarrassed and Brittany smiled: it was so rare to caught Santana up by surprise.

"Look, baby, maybe you should tell her. Besides we already tried everything else, maybe knowing…"

The Latina raised her hands. "Fine, but when she gets nuts as usual you deal with her."

"Hey, girls? I'm sitting right here!"

"Yeah, we see you, sit tight and shut up, please, grown ups are deciding things here!"

Quinn raised an eyebow.

"San…"

"Ok, ok, fine. Look" Santana caught her breath "You know well how it works. A dominant can have as many submissive as she wants, but there is only one claimed slave for one owner. Lifelong. No exceptions."

That's was the reason many slaves looked to be claimed, it was meant to be for life. Your owner had the right of life and death on you, but in most of the cases the relationship between an owner and a claimed property was of respect, affection and, in some cases, even love.

"If I claim B I won't be able to claim anyone else."

"And do you want to claim somebody else?"

"I… we, want to keep the option open for you, if it will ever come to that."

"You will not claim me Santana, I will die before letting you do that."

"I've told you" The Latina raised her hands giving up. She was obviously angry. That was one of the few topics that really made her go nuts because she felt torn between two opposites wishes. On one side she knew it was her only option left to really help her friend, but on the other hand she wanted nothing more than ask Brittany to be hers forever. Santana didn't like to be so torn and avoided the topic as much as she could. And when she couldn't, like in that moment, she gave up and leave. "Now you talk to her." She said getting up and leaving the table.

"San, come back here I haven't finish…"

Britt took Quinn's hand between hers.

"Look, Quinn, you know we're worried about you. Santana, she's…" her voice trailed off as memories of all her girlfriend did trying to keep Quinn as safe as possible. "She's scared for you, really scared. She loves you and wants to see you safe and possibly happy."

"I know."

"And yet you don't make her job easier." Quinn sighed. "Just let her claim you and let's get over with it."

"No." Quinn's reply was quick and dry. "And I'm not telling no just because I don't want to submit. I'm telling no because I will never be able to look at myself in the mirror if I'd to that to the two of you. You belong to each other."

"We belong to each other even if we don't make it official. We can have our relationship and you safe. It's a win win situation."

"No, you can have a very depressed and needy Quinn to look after, and you can be claimed by someone else and be brought far away from Santana. It's a lose lose situation, trust me."

"You're always so pessimist, Q."

Quinn rested her forehead on Britt's one. "And you're always so incredibly positive B, and I love you so much for this but… let her claim you. Or propose yourself. Let the whole world know you're meant to be together and let me be happy for you."

"Quinn…"

"I'm serious, B. If there is something that could really help me is knowing that in this world there is still a chance for a love like yours. I want you two to be my light, B. I want to look up to you and tell myself that, one day, I'll be there too."

Britt's eyes were wet now and a single tear fell down her cheek. "Santana will never agree to this."

"Then convince her. I bet you know how to do it."

Quinn kissed her cheek and got up.

The day after that she returned to her own apartman, the month of truce over, and she found a man waiting for slave 0157C. Another yellow envelope. She opened it before entering her house. There was no name on it, just a code, dominant ZIZ76, and instructions for her to wait for a car outside her building the next day.

She was back in the game.


	5. Silence

A car was waiting for her outside her apartment. The driver nodded as she stepped out of the house and opened the door for her. Quinn hesitated, she wasn't really sure slaves were supposed to receive this kind of treatment but, still, what else she could do? She entered in the car.

As the engine started Quinn realized that the car's windows were blind and a wooden wall divided her seat from the driver. "Nice" She thought sarcastically "I won't even know where he's taking me."

She felt unsettled. She usually went to the claims on foot, using that time to cool off and mentally train herself for what was coming, but she didn't know where she was headed nor how much time she had. She spent the first minutes trying to imagine the streets outside the car, trying to keep track of the turns and stops, but she got lost pretty soon and the rest of the short drive wondering what kind of dominant sends a car to pick up a slave for a claim.

She heard the gravel under the tires as the car entered in an alleyway, just before the driver stop and opened the door waiting for her to step out. She found herself in a garden, surrounded by threes and yellow flowers. Given the ride's length she wasn't far from her place but she didn't recall seeing the house before. It was a huge red bricked house, two floors, front full of large windows.

"She's been waiting for you inside, girl."

The man's voice called her back to earth reminding her duties. She nodded and headed for the main door. A girl was standing just outside. She was a really nice girl, light skinned, wore a pair of jeans and a red shirt that matched her hair.

"Welcome, girl. Please, come in, the officer is waiting for the procedure."

She followed the other slave into an allay where an old man with grey hair was standing still with a paper in his hands.

"Quinn Fabray, 0157C?" He asked and Quinn nodded. "I'm the officer assigned to this claim. The dominant does not wish to reveal her identity to you, thus the rules will be read separately to the both of you. The dominant..."

"Excuse me. What do you mean she does not wish to reveal her identity?"

"Girl!" The man's voice was firm "It's rather impolite to interrupt an officer during his speech. I resent your manners and I suggest you to maintain a more appropriate behavior or, otherwise, I will be forced to act accordingly and within my powers to punish your insubordination."

It was clear that beneath all those words and formal tone there was a clear menace. Quinn lowered her eyes. Pissing off an officer? Not a good idea, she tried that before and it didn't end well.

"Better" the man spoke again. "As I was saying I've already met the dominant and she's been informed of the same rules I am about to read to you."

The speech was always the same, written decades before, probably by a bureaucrat whose name was lost among the useless information that society didn't wish to remember. Quinn barely heard it, her mind was working fast and getting more and more worried. Weird things were piling up in this claim: the hidden name in the yellow envelope, the car picking her up, the big house she never saw, the secret identity of her claimer.

"Do you understand the rules?"

Quinn answered mechanically "Yes"

"Hence from this moment on I will be a mere observer for the Central Direction to ensure that everything works as the law prescribes"

The man walked away and the red headed slave stepped in. She walked Quinn in a room nearby. The room looked surprisingly modern, not as high as Quinn expected, it had a loft and some wooden stairs to reach it. One wall was made of just windows that let in a lot of light, one had a large tv within shelves of cd's and album, and the other two were naked, except for some abstract painting and posters of old movies..

"Mistress says you have to undress, kneel on the floor and wear this" The redhead told handling her a black blindfold to cover her eyes.

Quinn nodded and started to undress while the other slave made sure she did as she was told. She knelt obediently on the floor, tied the blindfold around her head and rest her hands above her knees. The other slave left the room.

The house was very quiet, or soundproofed, that she didn't know, what she knew it was that none of her claims had ever been quite like this.

The dominant took her time before making her appearance. Quinn knelt on the floor for at least an hour, or so it seemed to her, and was growing impatient. She didn't expect the touch of a hand on her shoulder when it came, and she jumped, caught by surprise.

She didn't hear her closing in and was surprised by her touch. She must have been already in the room when the two slaves entered. Quinn tried to remember if she saw a figure or as much as a shadow but she didn't. And why did she waited so long before making her presence known?

The woman didn't seem concerned about the tension evident in Quinn's body. She traced a path to her other shoulder, then went up between her hair, forcing her head to bow. Quinn let her body to be shaped and positioned as the dominant wished.

The first hours of the first claim were vital to Quinn to understand what kind of dominant she had to face. In her life as a slave she had learned that dominants could belong to five major groups: the arrogant one, who bragged about its greatness and how lucky she would be to be claimed by such a living god. This kind didn't like to be challenged and could turn easily into an evil and vicious kind of dominant if she pushed too much. She needed to look as obedient as she could with him, eager to accomplish whatever he asked. Then there was the player one, who respected her toughness and wanted nothing more than the challenge she can provide. She had to resist him, how much was a matter of experience. His experience. Then there was the seductive type, who though he was so confident who thought that the mere sight of him would make her knees go weak. In this case she needed to play the innocent, willing part. She had to look for him, take initiative, try to seduce him. Then the was the amateur one, who went on her vanilla style, the easiest one. She usually didn't need to do much, the dominant had no experience and didn't know what to expect and, in most cases, he didn't even know what he wanted. It was the most natural to play with: if she felt strong enough she'd toughen up giving him the hardest time, otherwise she went through the claim limply, barely present at all. Then there was the nut job, who loved inflicting pain over everything else. Most of the times this kind of dominant wasn't really interested in her claim, he just wanted to see how far he could go with someone who could take it.

Men and women, young and older, more or less experienced, they all though that the pain they inflicted, the humiliations they put her through, was the worst she'd ever lived. False. She had it all, more than once. In the end it was all just pain, and she could handle it. She knew how to.

Hands moved down her sides and on her tights. Quinn felt the woman's body pressed on her back as she explored every inch of skin with her hands. The woman moved up and down her inner tights a few times and Quinn prepared herself for what she knew it was coming, the parting her lips and the finger inside her. When it happened she didn't move. Quinn couldn't say if the woman was pleased or disappointed by her lack of reaction as she took away the finger and resumed the exploration of her naked body. She traced the line of her leg down her calf to her foot, drawing circles on her sole. The wound on her left foot was just a thin white line now, but the woman saw it anyway and spent some time tracing it with her fingers.

Quinn was still but her mind was racing. The woman hadn't spoke yet, and it made Quinn feel sort of deaf. She took a lot of information from the voice and the tone of a dominant speaking to her, from the pauses or the words, and being deprived of that, as well as her sight, was making the process of understanding the woman much more difficult or, to be more exact, completely impossible.

Hands moved to her ass pushing it up, silently ordering her to kneel upright. She took her arms behind her back tying her forearms together so that her chest arched forward. She then bent her neck on one side, exposing the skin, and started kissing it. It was a long line of wet kisses she traced from one side to the other, while fondling her breast. Quinn tried to maintain her composure but that woman was, somehow, talented, and the blonde had to focus to stay still and avoid a light moan of pleasure.

It seemed to Quinn that the woman's hands were able to be every where at the same time but, probably, it was the effect of the blindfold on her eyes. She felt the fingers moving on her chest and abs, then pinching her nipples, than again on her ass, and thighs, forcing her down, sitting on her heels, and on her knee, circling it, over and over, while the woman's mouth reached the point just below her hear where she started sucking. Hands moved her legs further apart, opening her, and this time when the finger entered her she was wet even if not mentally ready for it. She winced and the woman interpreted that as her cue. She immediately stopped touching Quinn and backed off. The blonde felt the loss of contact and realized only in that moment how much of her body that woman was touching and she wondered why, at her first reaction, the woman just stopped. It couldn't have been concern about her, right? Besides, there was nothing to be concerned, yet, so, why?

Noises from her back told Quinn that the woman was still in the room, looking for something, and when she came back the blonde realized what it was. A cold metal collar was placed around her neck and she heard a click when the two pieces where locked together.

It was rigid, a circle of metal that weighted on her, but it was loose around her neck, so loose that, in fact, the woman put two fingers inside it and dragged Quinn on her feet, and then out of the room.

They walked shortly in a hallway and then she was pushed inside another room. The woman turned her around and made her step back until her knee hit something soft and then she was showed backward, landing on a bed. The woman climbed above her, one knee pressing against her center. She started kissing Quinn's breast, sucking on her nipples, moving up to her neck. Between the kisses and her arousal growing Quinn tried to make sense of this, she tried to go back to the basic and put this woman into one of the five categories she already knew but she just didn't fit. This felt like... making love, which, of course, was out of question and...

She felt the woman's mouth on her clit, sucking, and all cerebral activity stopped. She moaned, thrusting her hips out to meet her, but the woman's mouth was gone, replaced by a finger. Thrust were deliberately slow and teasing, thumb moving on her clit in small circles. Quinn tried to regain control but it was getting harder, and the last glimpse of a thought she had was that, maybe, that's what the woman wanted: seeing her at her mercy, hanging on every touch, longing for more. She could do that

"Please". She begged with an husky voice, but all she get in return was a slap in the face. She didn't have permission to speak.

The woman inserted another finger but kept her slow peace, ignoring Quinn's body signals, and just when Quinn was going over the edge, she stopped and walked away.

Again Quinn found herself feeling the lost contact with the woman. Quinn thought she was left alone and when, after a few minutes without instructions, she tried to sat up only to find a hand roughly putting her back in. Another slap came and then the woman untied her forearm to secure her wrist to the bed post. Quinn groaned but didn't fight back.

She was left alone for a long period, around half hour, as her arousement wore off. No noise, no sign of life around her. She tested her restraints but her wrist were securely tied and even if her ankles were free there wasn't much she could do. Then the woman touched her again. Quinn felt her climbing on the bed, and moving on her body, hands on her breasts. She licked and sucked around her nipples, hardening them, until Quinn's body responded arching towards her, hand fondling her ass, possessive but not rude. Quinn felt the fabric of her dress on her naked skin as the woman kissed her neck, quickly finding her sensitive spots. She tried to turn around to stop her: she didn't like the way she was so easily reading her, but the woman used a hand to press her face down, on the mattress, leaving her neck exposed. Quinn started painting, her own hands clenched into fists. She hated the woman for the way she was exciting her.

Quinn had learned a long time ago that sometimes the body reacts even if the mind don't want to, and she usually cope with that simply escaping to her own mind place, but this time sensatory deprivation made it all more powerful and she couldn't detach herself. It wasn't just her body to be aroused, it was her all self, and she was hating her own feelings.

The woman moved down her legs, stroking her tights and her knee before turning back between her legs where she started to give her long and slow licks while two fingers moved in and out of her. Again, she bring Quinn to the edge, where just another stroke could make her come, and stopped right there.

And she did it again, and again, and again. All night long.

 

* * *

 

Quinn was a whimpering and exhausted body. She had been so close for so many times she had lost count. Time was meaningless to her, she had no idea how many hours might have gone by when the woman took the glass to her lips and lifted her head so she could drink. The woman then reached for her left wrist and untied it, and after giving her a final kiss on the lips she disappeared.

A few moments later Quinn heard someone coming in to untie the blindfold. Quinn blinked a few times. After a whole day with her eyes covered the light hurt her eyes. In front of her was the redhead slave who welcomed her into the house.

"Time's up. You're clothes are on the shelf" She said helping her sitting on the bed. Quinn massaged her own shoulders. She was confused but she was not going to argue. She was going to run home as soon as possible: that claiming had been the weirdest she'd ever faced in her life.

"Mistress asked me to give you a massage before you leave: she says she doesn't like reckless slaves."

"Excuse me?"

The redhead pointed to Quinn's knee. "She says you should follow doctor's order and keep your knee brace on."

"How does she...?"

The other woman shrugged. "I'm only telling you what she told me to say. When you have done come out, I'll walk you to the car."

Quinn was confused. She set on the bed, suddenly aware of her knee and the light discomfort it brought. Images of hands moving on her tights passed through her head, the way the miss touched her, caressed her, moving down her body to her injured knee, the way she moved her fingers circling it, over and over, like she was checking it. Did she know? How? But soon after that the miss take her to the bedroom where her knee laid relaxed. Was it planned? Was it casual? Did she change her plans because of her conditions? No, of course not. No dominant would do that or, at least, no dominant who wanted to claim the infamous Quinn Fabray would do that. They would know they had to brake her for good, a simple knee discomfort wasn't going to be of theirs concern. It was casual, for sure, an accidental coincidence. But that final warning about reckless slaves... Of course she knew. The Central Direction might have put that information on her file, maybe sent an alert on her conditions, and that mistress didn't want to earn a warning damaging public property, that was that! Stupid Quinn, over thinking as usual.

 

* * *

 

For once in a while, coming back from the claim, she didn't need to fall into the bed or to run into the shower trying to wash everything away. She went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, only to find that she wasn't hungry or thirsty. She was fine, and that was something she wasn't used to. Usually, when she came back from on claim she was exhausted but somehow proud of herself, because she made it through, she resisted and stayed true to herself. That day, though, she felt healthy and empty. She couldn't figure out what was wrong with her, but she knew that the claim had affected her more than she wanted to admit.

An hour later, more or less, Santana arrived. She opened the door, as usual, quietly, but surprisingly she found Quinn staring at her while sitting on the couch.

Santana frowned at her. "Am I missing something here?"

"Hi."

"Hi to you. I though you had a claim."

"I did."

"So what... someone killed you and you're here as a ghost to say the final goodbye to me?" Quinn patted the post next to her on the couch. "You seem corporeal though."

"I'm fine, you idiot."

Santana bend over and kissed Quinn's forehead. "No fever neither. Seriously, what am I missing?"

"It was... I don't know, not the usual stuff. It was weird."

"Like in someone-should-lock-you-in-a-cell-and-throw-away-the-key-weird or...?"

"No, like in no-one-ever-did-that weird. It was, I don't know, still trying to figure it out actually, she didn't even ask, you know? The claim. She didn't officially propose."

"Is she so stupid to forget it?"

"Or she didn't care."

"Yeah... sure, that's not an option sweetie."

The two of them set quietly for a while. Since Quinn's reputation started to sink in the most radical ambient of society, her claims had been an hard task for both of them. For Quinn, who had to endure them, and Santana, who had to collect the pieces and fight a lost battle to make her friend see reason. In the years they worked out a perfect symbiosis that an event unexpected like this ruined.

"Wow, I realize now that I came here ready to bandage you like a mummy for whatever weird wound I would find on you" said Santana still looking blankly in front of her "but I wasn't expecting this, you being ok. I really don't know what to do."

Quinn burst out laughing. It was so rare to listen to that sound in those days that Santana felt unconsciously relieved and happy herself.

"Strange right? I'm in the same place as you, we're not used to things being... ok."

"Nope, but we could. Imagine us, coming back from work, seeing each other for a glass of wine, bitching about the last reality on tv or some shit like that."

"Oh God... we would kill each other on the first week!" Again that laugh. It was addictive, and beautiful, a sound that Santana Lopez would love to hear for the rest of her life. She laughed back hugging her friend.

"Ok, so what do you say we just hang in here, watch a movie, and you fall asleep as usual when things get interesting on screen?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Santana turned on the tv and when she looked back at Quinn she saw a shadow pass through her eyes.

"Are you sure you're ok Q?"

"Fine."

Santana nodded and didn't push further. She had an idea of what that shadow could mean, but she knew also that Quinn needed time to figure it out for herself first.

Quinn's head easily found her place on Santana's shoulder, resting in her usual, comfy, place, and after a few minutes, while on the screen Marty McFly was driving to the past in the nth rerun, Santana heard the blonde's regular breathing slowing down.

"Figures." She said, brushing away the blonde hair and smiling at her sleeping friend.


	6. Confinement

When she woke up, still on the couch, Quinn found a note from Santana on the lounge table.

_"Marty McFly comes back in his own time, his family is now supercool, the world is safe and bla bla bla. Hope one day you will get to see the end of this movie, it's really good. See you soon sleepy head, don't get into troubles while I'm away! S."_

Quinn smiled sitting up. She was feeling ok, more than ok, actually, and she thought she could go to Marco's to have a nice breakfast.

World had better colors when you weren't in pains and your bones didn't feel like glass on the verge of breaking at every step. Air smelled good, sun seemed warmer and she liked the feeling of walking by the street without everybody staring at her because she was limping or had bruises on her arms or legs. She felt normal, invisible.

She turned on the main street directed to Marco's.

The night before was so clear in her mind she felt like she could remember every second, every single touch. It was weird, but in a pleasant way and, although it worried her to admit it, it had been a good night, sexually frustrating but somehow still good.

Marco's place was empty and the door was actually closed when she arrived, but Quinn sneaked on the back yard and knocked at their window.

A very sleepy Marco peeked between the curtains and, sighing, went to open the door.

"What are you doing here blondie?"

"Hoping to have breakfast?"

"We're closed!"

"Come on Marco, I'll wash the dishes."

The man pretended to think about it. "Take out the dog and we got a deal."

"Will you make me pancakes too?"

"What? Do you want to see me ruined?"

Angela, Marco's wife, came to the door shakeing her head. "Marco, let her in and stop it, you don't have time for this little act of yours, you need to fix the shower, remember? Quinn, come on in."

Marco stepped away muttering something about a certain woman ruining all the fun, then he grabbed a cup of coffee and went upstairs as Quinn sat at the kitchen table.

"You know, sometimes you should let him finish his bargain with me."

"Oh, I will, someday, but it's just too funny to mess up with him like this!" Angela laughed lightly. She was a beautiful woman in her 50 with gray, shining hair, constantly smiling. "What are you doing here so early kid?"

Angela was used to see Quinn at their door, or at their window, in their closing time, although it was really rare for her to show up in the morning.

"I didn't feel like being alone." Quinn answered honestly.

Angela tilted her head, studying her. "Is everything fine Quinn?"

Yes. No. Kind of. Quinn didn't answer.

Angela had known Quinn for some time now. At first she was just a regular, silent, client, but one night she knocked at their door after closure time and she asked if she could eat something there. She looked so lost and alone that they didn't have the courage to close the door on her. After that first time Quinn came to them again, offering to help them with little jobs and tasks as a way to pay for her intrusion. It was the start of their unusual friendship that soon turned out to be a surrogate family bond.

Quinn, was drawn to them because of their own rebellious attitude, because they defy the system letting slaves eat alone in their place, and because they weren't afraid to kick out dominants and submissives alike if they didn't like them. Marco and Angela, on the other end, liked the idea of having someone young and messy around their house.

"I'm ok, Ang." Quinn smiled back. "And your biscuits are delicious, as usual."

The tv turned on automatically as it did in all the houses for the daily news report. The anchorman talked about an accident on the highway, the new train station, how fans were preparing themselves for the big final and about the new data Central Direction had just released.

"Lower number of unwanted pregnancy between the youngest members of our society." Said the man behind the desk "Central Direction states that the strict policy is finally paying off and we can consider the plague of unprogrammed children definitely over."

Youngest members, unprogrammed children. They didn't even call it with their right names "teenager having sex against the law and getting knocked up". It wasn't allowed, it would be breaking the law to let viewers know that someone was, in fact, breaking the law. And yet Quinn knew those data had to be manipulated. Sometimes she still passed by the confinement facility that was her home and cell when she was pregnant, and she could read the signs and guess it was full and way over its capacity.

 

* * *

 

_Her room, well, actually, her cell, was completely white. White door which you can hardly detect in the white wall, white vent, up, close to the ceiling, a white concrete block with a white mattress and a white cushion on it. A white blanket, a white paper glass and a transparent bottle of water she can look through and see the whiteness of her cell deformed through the liquid._

_Doctors came to check on her regularly, she was fed and physically well cared, although every day they took her to a different room, where they cuffed her wrist to a table and she had to sit and listen to people who repeatedly told her how much she screwed up and let people down. Sometimes they were strangers, and sometimes they were people she knew, like her teachers. One, in particular, came over and over to see her, and kept yelling at her._

" _I had so much hope in you Fabray, you had the world wrapped around your finger, and you throw it all away, stupid girl."_

_They kept telling she was a disgrace and probably she would have started to believe them if it hadn't been for Santana._

_Her friend knew that during confinement Quinn would be allowed to have just one visitor, one hour, every week, and she made sure to be there all the times._

_The first time was the weirdest. It was in an empty gray room, except for a metal table glued to the floor and two chairs where Quinn and Santana were sitting._

" _Are you enjoying this?" Quinn asked._

" _Nope." The other girl didn't hesitate. "I would rather be at the mall, messing around, scaring kids and seeing them run crying to their tutors, you know me, don't you?"_

" _Then why are you here?"_

" _Because I would like to be at the mall with you" she pointed a finger to the cuffed girl "trying to talk me out of my pranks, and since that is not going to happen for five months... I'm here."_

" _Britt could talk you out of it."_

" _Yeah, but she's kind of mad at me because I kept the two of you away from each other in the last weeks. She asked me to tell you she misses you, by the way."_

_Quinn smiled. "Tell her I miss her too."_

" _Maybe she could come visit you next week."_

" _Nah, not a good idea. Touching is forbidden during visits."_

" _And she's a hugging person. Ok, I get it, it would be trouble for the both of you."_

_Quinn tried to sit back but the cuff's chain was too short and kept her ben onward, elbows on the table._

" _What are they saying in school?" She asked._

" _That you're a slut." Santana didn't hold it back._

" _Nice."_

" _They're also wondering who's the father, who, by the way, should take his responsibilities and face confinement as you are."_

" _He..." Quinn's voice trailed off. Eventually they will find out with a simple dna test, but she wanted to give him the chance to come out on his own. Maybe if he did his life wouldn't be completely ruined as hers was. "I don't see why I should spoil the surprise."_

" _I thought you would be looking for some sort of revenge. After all he was the one who got you in so much trouble."_

" _Yeah, well, it's a two thing, you know? It's not like he drugged me or fucked me while I was unconscious. It was actually kind of fun the whole..."_

" _Aww, gross Fabray. Now I have a picture of the two of you in my mind and I will have to wash it out with an horror movie marathon if I want to sleep tonight."_

" _The two of us?"_

_Santana smirked. "Well, they" she pointed to the wall where a camera was seeing everything "might not know, but I have a pretty clear idea of who the moron is."_

" _You do uh?" Quinn raised an eyebrow "But you will keep your mouth shut."_

" _Giving me orders, Fabray?"_

" _Is not like I will be able to do that much longer now."_

_Santana bit the side of her lip. As much as she tried to lighten things up the reality of Quinn's situation was in front of her, in shining cuffs, and there was nothing she could do about it. "I could give you a bonus, you know? Like once a year or something. For your birthday."_

" _You will let me boss you around as birthday gift..."_

" _I might."_

" _Not if you end up a slave."_

" _Come on! Have you seen me? I've written dominant all over my fabulous body, and since there is no way in the world Brittany could make me pregnant before my 18 birthday I'll say I'm a safe bet."_

" _Yeah... I should have thought about that. Being lesbian kind of limits bad consequences, right?"_

" _Yep! Join the team whenever you're ready, girl."_

" _What is that supposed to mean?"_

_Santana shook her head smiling lightly. "Nothing."_

" _Are you making fun of me?"_

" _If I was you would know, Fabray. And now, change of subject, I have to update you about school."_

" _Why, am I not the greatest news the school had in a few years?"_

" _Of course you are, but do you think the world would stop just because you got pregnant? First of all your departure..."_

" _Hey! I'm not dead!"_

" _...whatever, your confinement/trip/absence/forced-retirement opened a spot on the social pyramid at school. There's a huge fight going on to fill in your place."_

" _Like anybody would fit in my shoes."_

" _Exactly! Anyway, they're trying. Clarissa is trying to end up in Finn's pants because she thinks being the quarterback's girlfriend would put her on the top; Mercedes is trying to conjure up a looser's crew hoping to take control of the school, like I'll ever let that happen; Sam is..."_

_Santana went on babbling about everyday stuff, like they used to do. Quinn was grateful of that short brake to her normality, and although she wanted to be mad at Santana for her stupid plan and the way she made her feel in the last weeks, she couldn't find the strength to keep her at arm length. She needed her friend, and she knew that, in the near future, she would need her even more._

_The hour passed quickly and when a guard came knocking at the door interrupting the two girls, Santana got up and bent to whisper something in Quinn's hear._

" _I'm not telling you're not an idiot because you know you are, but you're not as bad as they want you to believe. You're stubborn, but you're also good, and smart. At least most of the times. Remember that."_

_Then she kissed her cheek and left the room._

_Santana wasn't the only one who tried to visit her. A weird group of people lined up to meet her on her weekly visit day, but she was given the choice to pick up the visitor, and she always chose Santana. She knew most of the others were there just to mock about her stupidity and her mistakes, and she didn't need any more of that: they made perfectly clear, in there, that she was a disgrace for the human race and for their honorable society, she got it, she didn't need any more reminder. Although, to be true to herself, there was a visitor she wanted to meet and that, week after week, came to her, never giving up, even if Quinn always turned her down._ _It was all so complicated. Confusing. It was better just to stay away from her, their lives were never meant to intertwined. Right? Right._

_But even if she tried to avoid her, physically, Quinn couldn't help but think of her. She tried to lie to herself saying that, if she spent most of her dull, boring time, thinking of her, was just because she was trying to think of ways to avoid Rachel Berry once she would be back at school. And she did think of that too, but to be honest she would have to admit she was spending a fair amount of time thinking of the taste of her skin; the way her eyes opened after a kiss, slowly and dreamy; the way her hands always seemed to hesitate for a second when they bodies closed together; the way she made the whole world disappear just locking gaze with her; the things she whispered in her ear when they were making love; the way her own head seemed to find its natural place on her shoulder when they laid together on the bed. They were pleasant memories that kept torturing her because, Quinn knew it without doubt, they were just that: memories. She had to end it, for good reasons, and after ending on the wrong side of the law there was no way in hell she could go back to what it was. Even if Rachel Berry didn't want to give up there was no way they could be together anymore. Never ever, now, after what Quinn throw away her own life._

_In five months, she would give birth to a new life and, as Santana said, she would never be able to hold her baby, maybe she wouldn't even see it. She would check out of the hospital and be thrown back to her old room and school, to face the disappointed looks of her teachers and the mocking smiles of her former friends, till the day of the sorting, when Central Direction would sentence her to be a slave for the rest of her days. Rachel would probably try to contact her, close in, but she would have to be adamant, even cruel if it would come to that, to keep her far away. It wouldn't be easy given the fact that she was Rachel-I'll-have-it-my-way-or-there-is-no-"or"-I'm-just-having-it-my-way-Berry, but she had to be prepared._   _Everyone on their own, it was what it was meant to be._

_  
_

* * *

 

"Done!" Marco came downstairs with a screwdriver in his hand and a triumphant look on his face.

"Done like the last time, which was yesterday and it turned out to be not-done at all, or done-done?"

"Woman, your husband knows hot to fix a shower, ok?"

"I thought you were my husband... when did I marry someone else? Was in my sleep walkS? I told you Marco to keep an eye on me..."

"Ow, shut up, Ang!" He walked to her and kissed her on the lips. "You're a lucky woman, you know? You've married the best."

"Yeah, go walk the dog, best hausband in the world, we're opening in a couple of hours."

Quinn liked to see how Angela and Marco were still so close and in love with each other. She didn't knew many couples like that, actually she didn't knew anyone like them at all. Not only they were truly in love with each other, after 30 years of marriage, they were peers, in every sense, supportive of each other, and kept joking around, laughing with each other, like young lovers. Quinn hoped they would be a role model for Santana and Brittany, and that her two friends would be, in 30 years, still in love as those two.

"So, are you gonna walk out the dog with me or what?" Marco asked her taking the leash for the dog.

"You didn't make me pancakes."

"And I will never do if you don't come out now."

"This is blackmail."

"Of course it is. This dogs pulls on the leash like I never take him out, and my arm is sore, so... are you going to take it or not?" He handled her the leash.

"Fine. But then I want my pancakes. With chocolate."

"We'll see." He said opening the door for her under the amused look of his wife.

Marco's dog was a stray dog they adopted a few months ago. Skinny as hell when they found it, scared of people and storms, wounded, probably after a fight with some other stay dogs on the streets. Angela and Marco took it and cure it, and were probably the first people to show love to that poor animal.

Sometimes Quinn saw herself in that dog. They were both lost when Marco and Angela found them, and they both were somehow adopted by the couple who gave them a safe place to stay when they needed one. She knew she was luckier than the animal, though, because all her life she had two amazing friends who took care of her and whom she could count on, but the analogy still worked.

Marco and Quinn walked around the block. Officers were patrolling the streets making sure the slaves had their permissions to enter restricted public places, inquiring the ones who have tired looks on their faces, dutifully avoiding dominants who look to much into their own thought. They stopped her two times to check why wasn't she working.

"Recovery permission." She said, although, to say the truth, she was on permanent recovery permission.

She used to have a work, before she made a name for herself. She was a pony express and she loved it. It was a job most of the slaves avoided as long as they could because it was poorly paid and because you had to be subjected to endless police control and wear a locator bracelet all the time so they could see where you were. For Quinn that wasn't a problem. She was in a confinement facility when she was still a teenager and she spent a lot of time in solitary as well when they tried to train her just after her sorting, so she was used to being watched all the time and she really didn't care anymore. What she did care about was the chance to sprint on the streets and feel the wind on her face, to stay on her own.

Unfortunately that wasn't the right job for laying low. After just a few months dominants started to notice her. Some of them were nice, asked her out, tried to know her as a person; some of them she dated for a short while, as long as they don't ask for any commitment, anything serious; some of them asked to claim her because they just wanted to have her, even if just for one or two days. Those ones wanted just to play, to pretend, they were never really interested in her, but those one were also the ones that started her reputation, the one who noticed her high pain tolerance, her challenging attitude. Pretty soon her name was passed on between dominants "Seriously dude, you gotta try her out!" and when it reached the real dominants, the one who embraced their role fully, she became The Infamous Quinn Fabray.

As her reputation built up in the community her claims became more and more. After every claim the slaves were allowed some days off work to recover but pretty soon, given her number of claims, she had no days left to go to work. It was a rare occasion for a slave but not an unique one. There were a bunch of slaves in the whole country who lived her same situation and were all living in the same way: on a house they were given from central direction, food and clothes they needed but they couldn't choose and no money at all. Everything they had and could use was given to them by Central Direction and they made sure to give just enough to live but not anything more.

It was one of the means Central Direction used to force those slaves to find an owner: only when someone would claim them they would be allowed, maybe, to have a job back and some more freedom. In the long run that was a very powerful mean, but it didn't work well with Quinn: she had Santana and Britt that sometimes helped her, and she had Marco and Angela whom she repaid of their courtesy and free delicious food doing as much as she could. Like happened that same day.

She and Marco got back to his place in about an hour. Some people were already inside waiting to have an early lunch before going off to work. Quinn waved her hand through the window to Angela, taking a small paper bag with cooked that the woman left for her on the outside window, and then headed back to her apartment where a man with a dark green jacket was waiting for her in front of her door.

Same old, same old.


	7. Leash

"Mistress wants you naked, on your knees, with this on."

Two month after her first claim with the woman another yellow envelope arrived for slave 0157C. Quinn tried to pretend with herself it was just usual stuff but the truth was she had thought often about that woman in the past weeks. She wondered why she never formalized her claim and why she didn't seem interested in the things the other dominants wanted.

As usual the redhead gave her the blindfold. Quinn nodded, used to the procedure, and quickly complied giving her clothes to the other woman and taking her place on the floor. She didn't have to wait long to hear the door open and the light footsteps on the carpet. She sensed the woman going behind her and then she felt her touch on the shoulder. The hand was cold and wet, like it was just being washed. It moved down her side and on her ass, pushing her up so that she kneeled upright. The hand moved down again, on her tight and calf, stopping at her ankle. Quinn felt a leather bend fasten around her right ankle and after a moment the same happened on her left. The woman took her arms and placed them behind her back fastening cuffs around them too. Quinn couldn't see her but had a pretty clear idea of what was going on. She could imagine the woman passing a rope between the cuffs' rings, tying her wrists together and then using the rope to bound her ankles too. The bondage wasn't too tight but it effectively prevented her from getting up or being in any other position that wasn't kneeling.

Satisfied with her work the woman moved to the front, locking the same metal collar she used last time around her neck, and then attaching a leash to it. Quinn felt the tugging signaling her to move forward and realized that the bonding let her do just small steps and advance very slowly. The pressure on her collar was constant, without straps, as she moved ahead feeling the carpet end under her knees being replaced by a cold floor. Being led by the collar and not being able to see she had to relay only on how the collar was pulled onward, on the left or on the right. It made her particularly aware of the presence of the metal ring around her neck and of its meaning. As reaction Quinn tried to escape in her usual mental place but, as it turned out, that wasn't a brilliant idea. With her mind unfocused she lost awareness of the collar around and bumped into her domme who had to push her away abruptly before yanking the collar and making her move again. Two more times the other woman pushed her away after failing to take the right turn or to stop when the collar was lose on her neck before Quinn realized that this was going to be endless unless she tried to pay attention to her. The fourth time she did try to listen to her collar and she finally got to stop when her domme wanted to.

The woman rewarded her with a caress on her face and then pressed a hand on her back till Quinn bent down, face on the ground and ass high and exposed. She moved a finger from her ass ckrack to her slit opening her labia. Her movements where almost clinical, like she was accomplishing a task and not touching Quinn's most intimate parts. The woman inserted something in her and then moved again. For a moment Quinn didn't know where she was or what she was doing, but then she felt her leash been tugged and her head lifted enough to allow the woman to place her feet near her face. Quinn realized what she wanted and started kissing her.

It was a very uncomfortable position with her arms and legs bound as they were, but it seemed to Quinn that she could handle it. Kissing her feet didn't require her attention so she could easily fall back on her safe mental space, where none of this could harm her or taunt her, or affect her in any way, and where she could easily keep control of the situation. But as she was slipping in her comfort zone, the woman hit a button turning on the little vibrator she had put in her. Quinn was forcefully dragged back to reality.

The egg vibrating made it hard to detach herself. She could do it, maybe, if she just had a moment of pause, a minute to just see in her mind her safe harbor and go there, but the woman seemed to read in her mind and did everything to keep her bound to reality. She kept on challenging her, physically and mentally, and she had an hard time trying to keep up.

But that situation wasn't completely unpleasant. The egg went on and off, making her aroused, and the woman skin had a nice, sweet, sent that intoxicated her and went right in her mind.

She went on for at least an hour, kissing heels, ankles, and toes, following the hint the domme gave her with the leash, pulling her head up a little or forcing her down again with her foot. When she finally yanked the leash to bring her head up to her tights, it was a relief for Quinn's abs. Her lips moved on the silky skin worshipping it. Now that her position was less distressful Quinn had gained some of her lucidity back. She knew what dominants wanted and she could trick them into thinking she was giving it to them. Be obedient, be willing, fake devotion for all the time you need, as long as you say no in the end. That was her mantra. She moved closer to the woman center, the collar was loose around her neck, no input from the woman who controlled her. Probably the kissing aroused her and she wanted to get off. It was a good thing: dominants loose focus when they needed to come. Quinn worked her way up between her legs only to find her tongue against some unforeseen fabric. God, they were so up her leg they must been some really hell of shorts. She heard a chuckle, the woman was having a good time seeing her reaction and knowing she didn't expect that.

Quinn felt fingers moving through her hair, pressing her head against the fabric and on, taking her mouth to the metal bottom. Quinn obediently unbuttoned her using her teeth. She was pushed away as the domme undressed herself. When the leash moved her back to her task, Quinn tried to go between her legs she was pushed away and rewarded with a slap. Quinn was confused: wasn't that what she was supposed to do?

The leash was yanked down at the knee level. Quinn resumed the kissing, tracing a wet line with her tongue up the woman's leg. She took her time approaching, this time, but again she was pushed away and slapped hard. It was getting frustrated, Quinn didn't understand.

"Talk to me, please" She asked in a husky voice.

Another slap hit her. Talking was not allowed.

She stayed on her knees for a while, the egg started vibrating again in her, she could feel her own juice flowing down and her breath was rough and fast. Then the woman placed a hand in front of her, Quinn felt it on her cheek and then upon her lips. She leaned on her touch, searching her hand, thinking that maybe that was what she wanted, seeing Quinn beg for the privilege of touching her. She could do that.

She searched her fingers in the dark, her mouth half open, inviting, and when she finally found it she kissed it, licking her. As Quinn actions got more passionate and hungry another slap hit her.

Quinn was getting angry, she couldn't understand what was going on and that no talking policy was really just complicating things a lot. She sighed in frustration, lost, with no clue, and anger boiling in her veins. Then she felt a finger on her lips, parting them, moving seductively on her mouth until Quinn realized what she wanted and kissed her fingertips. The movement stopped. Quinn waited for another slap, fearing she might be wrong again, but when nothing happen she understood that was the right thing to do. Kissing. Light kiss, small kisses, slow kisses, respectful kisses. The vibrator stopped. Quinn's mouth was on her wrist, arm, she let her lips linger in every spot, like she didn't want to leave it. The hand moved to the woman's thighs and Quinn followed it.

She got closer but this time didn't go for her slit. She moved up to her side, her hips, her abs. Fingers were digging deep into her hair, but no push or slap came and Quinn though she finally understand. Slow and sweet, that was what the woman wanted.

She took her time circling the navel with her tongue, feeling the body beneath her respond to her attention, and finally demanding more. Hands reached for her head and pushed her down. Quinn's tongue moved all the way up and down on her slit, teasingly, tasting her wetness. Quinn could tell she was already close and put her tongue into her, twirling it around a few times, before grasping her clit between her lips and sucking. She heard her suck the air in as her body tensed, reaching the edge and falling down in a powerful orgasm.

She heard the panting slowing down and the grip on her head loosen up a little bit. It took a few minutes though, before the woman moved at all and in the meantime the egg in her stopped and resumed vibrating twice.

Quinn growled in frustration.

The sex part of slavery had bothered her for a long time. She spent years going crazy because her body reacted even if she didn't want to. She hated to know they could get her excited while treating her like an object, she hated that she didn't have that much control of her body and she felt terrible if they made her come. It took her a long time, and several chats with Brittany, to understand that if her body reacted didn't mean that her mind was ok with it. B made her realize that as long as they didn't have her mind they could have her body and do what they liked. They can have the flash, and bones, and blood, but they wouldn't have Quinn Fabray. That realization made her feel better about herself and probably saved her from going nuts, but it was also the beginning of her end.

She realized she had to detach herself from what was going on during the claims. She found herself a nice place in her mind, a calm room that wasn't filled of memories or hopes for the future, but an illogic place, where rationality didn't exist and she could surprise herself with new things that would keep her far away from reality.

With time she trained herself to escape there, while her body automatically respond to the dominant wishes, playing the obedient slave role, only to come back to herself in the end and refuse their claim, no matter what. It drove them crazy. Nobody realized what she was doing, they fell for the good slave act and were all surprised when, in the end, she simply refused them. They usually got angry, call their second, and third claim, thinking if they could go past her limits she would beg for them to stop and then she would be theirs. What they didn't understand was that she didn't have limits, because she wasn't really there.

Except her. She seemed to know.

That woman prevented her from detaching and all she was feeling now was absolutely Quinn's feeling. She wasn't just a body enduring whatever she was doing at her, she was Quinn Fabray, whole and complete, aroused and dripping, and feeling guilty and ashamed for all of it.

The woman got up and went behind her, pressing a hand on her back and making her bend, once again, head on the floor. Quinn bit her lip imagining what was coming next and not wanting to give up.

The woman traced path on her back and ass, with just a finger, barely touching her skin, she moved down her tight and up again. She pulled the string extracting the vibrating egg while it was still on. It exited touching her clit and almost sending over the edge. Almost.

Quinn tried not to make any sound and to have a neutral expression but she didn't think she did it well. She knew her excitement was obvious to the woman, and not just the physical one.

The collar was tugged again, lifting her up and making her move. The woman brought her outside, or so it seemed to her. She could feel the sun on her skin and it was a pleasurable feeling. Soon after she felt grass under her knees and realized she was right. The woman untied her bonds briefly just to secure her to a wooden pole, still kneeling, legs open, hands held high above her head, tied behind the pole so that her back was arched onward. The pole wasn't smooth, it was raw, and Quinn immediately knew that if she tried to move too much it would irritate her skin although it would probably never really hurt her.

Then there was a sound. Water running, getting closer to her. She didn't understand at first, but when the cold water started running down her arm and she sucked the air in at the coldness, she realized that it was probably an outside water tube, the one used to water the flowers and plants.

The water stream was thin, mean to slowly run down her body and make her twitch. It went down her arm and her side, drying by the time it reached her hip. Then again, water falling on her, near her shoulder, following the natural curve of her breast and then down, between her legs. Then on her head, wetting her hair and dripping from her nose, then on her nipple, then on her other arm. When most of her body was wet the woman let the stream of the water fall more.

The woman poured the cold water on her for a couple of minutes, washing away her arousement and then left her outside.

It was a spring day, the sun was cold enough although the light breeze made her shiver sometimes. Again it seemed to Quinn that the woman wanted to make her uncomfortable but not in pain and she didn't understand why. What was she trying to accomplish? Her touch, her choices, didn't look amateurish, yet she wasn't pushing Quinn's limits. Why? Why not hang her around, whip her senseless, like the others, why didn't she ask to submit. Why didn't she talk?

Quinn lowered her head, chin resting on her chest. She moved her shoulders a little, her neck and muscles. Maybe something worse was coming. There was always something worse coming.

The woman came back to her after a while freeing her hands. This time she didn't chain her wrist and ankles together but she made pretty clear, tugging the leash, that she still wanted Quinn on her knees.

The blonde was brought back into the house. It was a different room, she could tell it by the cold tiles and the quiet humming noise that filled the room. She stopped and heard sounds of glassy things, metal things and water. For a second Quinn was scared but then she heard something else. It sounded like a chair next to her an then tiny short noises like... a fork, on a plate. Quinn realized she was in a kitchen, the humming noise a fridge, or something like that, and all the rest the sound of someone preparing the table for dinner. She pictured in her head the image of a clean brown kitchen with a yellowish floor and a round table. A microwave on the corner, a white fridge with magnets and a paper towel near the empty sink.

The woman brushed her lips with something dry Quinn opened her mouth and took it with her teeth. It was a piece of bread with something on it. A thin slice of meat with... mayonnaise? And something else, maybe tuna. It tasted good. The woman kept feeding her for a while.

It was strange for Quinn, nobody had ever feed her like that. Some dominants starved her, some gave her food to eat on her own, some put in a dog bowl and made her eat from it, but nobody, ever, feed her from her hands like that. Her lips brushed the woman's fingers as she put food in her mouth. It was a light and yet intimate touch that left Quinn with the feeling of wanting more, with the need to look for those hands and feel them on her face, cupping her cheeks, and on her body, stroking her skin. The woman's finger lingered more and more on her lips as she fed her some apples and finally put a glass of water on her lips for her to drink. She chewed slowly, tasting it and appreciating the fact that, once in a while a dominant actually let her eat some real food during a claim. It was good.

After dinner she heard the woman turn on a tv on the news as she cleaned the dishes. Quinn was still on her knees but she was perplexed. This was as close to normality as she ever got during a claim. An almost normal dinner, in an almost normal house with an almost normal person. Quinn surprised herself with that last though. That woman was as far from normality as a dominant could be, or well, at least as far from all the other dominants Quinn had to deal with. She tried to picture her silhouette in the tv light, near the sink, as she washed dishes but as she tried to trace the lines of her body in her mind they faded away: she couldn't picture her, she could just sense her.

The rest of the evening was spent on what probably was the lounge. The woman brought her near the couch and sat down to watch some tv making her sit on the floor next to her. It was a welcomed change because her knees were really starting to hurt. The woman made her lean her face on her tights and started to play loosely with her hair while watching a movie Quinn didn't recognize. As minutes passed by Quinn found herself more and more relaxed, as she never was before during a claim, and she let her guard down, almost falling into sleep. She was woken up by a touch on her shoulder. The tv was off and the woman tugged her leash to make her stand and walked her into another room where she left them. Just a few seconds later someone else came in and took away the blindfold. It was the red headed slave.

"This is your room." She explained "There's a small bathroom over there and if you need them there are some blankets on the wardrobe. I'll come back in the morning, good night."

The other slave left without giving Quinn time to ask or say anything. She blinked, trying to adjust to the light again, and looking at her room. It looked a lot like an hotel: comfy but empty, anonymous. A clean bed, an empty wardrobe, a poster of an old black and white movie on the wall. There was a door open on the left wall that lead to a small bluish bathroom, clean towel hanging behind the door. She decided to take a shower and then tested the bed, sitting on it. Soft, but not too soft. Again she had the impression it was an average room for average guests, and she started to think how many slaves spent a night there. Was it really like an hotel room? How many claims did the woman tried? And why didn't she had a slave yet?

She got up and start pacing on the room. Quinn was starting to grow uneasy. She had this weird feeling like there was something in front of her that she couldn't see, so obvious and yet hidden to her eyes, and while she was thinking, trying to figure out what she was missing out, she realized something else: the door was open.

When the other slave left it Quinn didn't heard the key turn in the lock, did she? She put a hand on the doorknot and the door opened.

 

* * *

 

When the red headed slave returned, the morning after, Quinn had been awake for a while.

"Mistress says she's disappointed."The other slave didn't waste any time giving Quinn her blindfold back and waiting for her to put it on.

"Disappointed?"

"She says you've mistaken the fact she didn't beat you in a bloody whimpering body for weakness and she won't allow that. She's angry, girl."

"What? Why? What did I do?"

"I have no idea. What I do know, though, is that she's pissed off. She's a good dominant, girl, but she has her own rules and she demands respect. I suggest you to figure out what you did wrong. Quickly"

Quinn tied the blindfold behind the back of her head and the world went black once again. She kneeled on the floor of her room, hearing the other slave leave. A few moments later the woman entered her room. Quinn was surprised to realize she already knew her footstep's sound and could recognize them among many other if she had to. The woman roughly took her collar and dragged her on her feet, bringing her to the bathroom, placing her into the shower and making her kneel before opening the cold water on her.

Icy and heavy drops fell on Quinn's shoulders waking her up completely. She tried to avoid them but the woman's hand on her shoulder kept her right in place under the shower head. After a couple of minutes her skin became red and she started loose sensitivity, and after a little more time her body started shaking.

She was dragged out of the shower, still trembling. She tried to cover herself with her hands around her chest but the woman took them and pose them on her knees. Then she started to whip her back.

At first her skin was so numb she barely noticed, but after a few blows, as the the blood rushed back in she felt it. At each blow her back felt like it was hit twice: one with the whip and one with little needles pinching her as her skin rose her temperature. The woman kept hitting her until her skin dried out and then showed her again in the shower. As the cold water hit her burning skin she sucked the air in and twitched around, but the woman grab the back of her neck and force her forehead on the tiled wall making her stay still. Icy water, then whipping, icy water and whipping. The cycle was repeated several times before Quinn spoke out.

"Stop." She yelled.

She was kneeling on the floor, shaking, her lips turned into a bluish color. The woman paused, waiting to see if there was more coming, but Quinn didn't say a thing so she resumed the whipping.

At first Quinn thought that the woman was punishing her for her night excursion out of her room.

It had been stupid but the night before, when she sound the door was open, she couldn't resist and she left the room for a while. She stepped into the hallway and looked around the rooms recognizing the lounge she had just spent the night in. She saw the kitchen and the door that lead to the backyard. She saw stairs too, to the upper floor, but when she was starting to walk up she heard a noise getting closer and she quickly returned to her room deciding it was too risky to leave again.

The woman must have find out about her little night trip in the house, probably she had hidden cameras somewhere, it had been really foolish of her to think that her action wouldn't have consequences. And yet this didn't seem like a regular punishment, a punishment was supposed to end, at some point, but by the way the woman was restlessly beating her, without a pause, she knew that the whipping could go on and on, forever. The woman wanted something else from her, she just had to figure out what.

"Stop, please I'm..." arms tight around her chest Quinn was trying to warm herself but she wasn't succeeding, the cold penetrated her skin and bones deeply. "I'm, I'm sorry." That was always a good start. She brushed away the dripping hair from her face. "I'm... sorry... I'm..." The woman hit her again on her shoulders. "Please!" Quinn was trying to think about the right thing to say but it wasn't easy. "I'm sorry I went out of my room." She waited for another blow that didn't came. The woman was listening. "I shouldn't have left, I... knew I was supposed to stay there." The whip fell again on her lower back. She arched forward, not expecting it, and bit her lip to muffle her gasping. Again, in the same spot, and again. And again. Quinn fell forward, hands clenched in fists on the floor. "STOP!" She yelled again, but this time her burst didn't buy her time and she was forced to speak between the blows. "I didn't... mean, didn't want to... to be... disrespectful." The whipping stopped. "It was tempting, that's all." Her back burned. She was trying to think as the woman, to see what pissed her off. "I wasn't... defying you I just..." Quinn lowered her head and realized she was sorry. That woman was the only one, in a long time, that treated her with some sort of respect and she knew that her action were, in fact, a rebellious act against someone she thought was too weak to handle her. "I'm sorry." She said, and this time she truly meant it.

She waited for another blow to came but it didn't, instead the woman throw a towel in her lap and left the room.

After a few moment a voice called her.

"Girl?" Quinn raised her head and turned to the direction of the sound. It was the red headed slave. "Mistress asked me to give you a massage: I'm going to take off this blindfold, but if you meant what you just said to her, you will keep your eyes shout through whatever is coming next. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

The other slave untied the knot behind her head and when she took the blindfold away Quinn's eyes were closed.

"Not a peak, not a glimpse, ok? Eyes shut."

Some part of Quinn wanted to ask "Or what?" but the other part of her maintained control and kept her quiet. Quinn knew this was a test, what she didn't know was if she wanted to willingly take it. What was wrong with her? Why was she thinking about it at all? It should be automatic: comply if you think it will bring pain and punishment you can't bear, defy in any other case: that was the rule. But rules didn't apply with that woman. From the beginning it was weird, challenging, and somehow... no, nothing else. She was going through it, she would keep her eyes shout because it was the right thing to do. She owe it to the woman who didn't beat the hell out of her even if she could. But they would be even after that, no more debts, Quinn would be back to her old self. Full stop.

The slave let her up and walk her to the next room making her kneel once again. Quinn's hair were still wet but at least were not dripping water over her. The blonde sensed the other slave leave and, soon, after that the woman approached her from behind. She took her hands and placed behind her head, and started started rubbing the cold skin on her chest, gently, paying particular attention to her breasts, thumbs stroking her sides and slowly moving closer to her nipples. Quinn could feel the woman's hot breath next to her ear, the closeness of her body, and she couldn't help but being turned on by her.

The woman circled her with her arms, moving her fingers lightly on her left breast, pinching her nipple and then attaching a clamp on it. Quinn flinched, breathing deeper. The woman moved to the other nipple quickly trapping it with the second clamp. The two clamps were linked trough a short chain and when the woman lifted it and put the chain in Quinn's mouth, her breast were forced up, exposing the tender flash under them. Quinn felt felt something thin pressed on her skin and it didn't take long for her to figure out it was a cane.

Then the first blow came. Hard and fast, from below, to hit a spot where usually whips and canes didn't touch her. She gasped and involuntarily tugged the chain in her mouth pulling her nipples. The blows were slow and methodical. By the fifteenth Quinn started crying, shutting her eyes more tightly. The cane hit her five more times in a row, fast, always on the same spot, and Quinn gasped, bending forward, trying to cover herself. The woman stopped and took her hands, lowering them down on her sides, slightly shaking. Her breast looked red now, as the woman moved roughly her hands on the raw skin making Quinn wince once again. Her hands were cold, in contrast with her hot skin and that added much more to her discomfort.

The woman took the chain from Quinn's mouth and, after steadying the blonde placing a hand on her shoulder, she pulled on the clamps, taking them off in the most painful way.

Quinn sucked the air in, biting her lips but as the blood rushed back in her nipples she couldn't help but moan in pain. For a couple of seconds all she could feel were her nipples burning, then a hand reached for the back of her head and she was pulled down, so that her forehead rested on the woman's shoulder as fingers moved soothingly in her hair.

Quinn hated it. She hated the way her head found its own place on the other woman's body, the way her gestures seem so natural and felt so comforting. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she just lay, motionless, like always, waiting for the claim to be over and go on with… whatever was waiting for her. But she couldn't. She breathed the woman's scent, deeply, feeling her energies come back to her like if that simple contact between them could give her enough strength to go hell and back.

The woman lifted her head, gently, thumbs rubbing Quinn's cheek. She leaned into her touch, looking for it, hating herself for that, but wanting, needing, craving it nevertheless. Soft lips captured her upper lip. It was sweet, caring, and loving, and before Quinn could understand what was going on she found herself responding to the kiss.

The woman moved back. She didn't let go of her head but she moved where Quinn's mouth couldn't reach her. The blonde waited, fearing a slap would come soon because she dared to take without asking, but nothing bad happened, quite the opposite, instead. The woman resumed the kissing, very slowly, on her neck, jaw line and mouth. She let Quinn respond but never take the initiative.

Quinn didn't understand what she was doing, her body acting on her own, she just knew the feelings of that woman's body were familiar and, even through the pain, nice. The woman kissed her one last time and lingered on Quinn's lips as the blonde fought hard to keep her word and not give in to the temptation of opening her eyes, then she moved back and disappeared in silence, living Quinn on the floor.

A few moments later the red headed slave came back in putting a hand on her shoulder.

"You can open your eyes now." The girl was smiling at her. "Are you ok?"

Quinn nodded. "Where is she?"

The other girl became very serious. "Mistress says you can go now."

"What? Why? It's not 48 hours yet."

The red headed girl shook her head. "I'm just saying what she said, girl. I have your clothes, she ordered me to take you to the car and then home."

That was a first. Never, ever, Quinn had been released from her claims before the last minute was up.

"Is she mad?" The blonde asked.

"Hard to tell. She's..." the girl looked for the right word but couldn't find it and settled for the closest thing it seemed right "...serious. A little more than usual. Come on, get dressed, I have to take you out of here."


	8. Curefew

The car left her outside her building. It was evening, she left just 24 hours before and now she was back, a whole day before the term. Quinn stared at the building's black door: she didn't feel like going inside right then. Her back was sore but nothing she couldn't handle, she was more worried about her mind and the way her thoughts constantly run back to the woman and the way she made her feel: she needed to walk. Walking always helped her clear her mind, settings things alright

The night was warm enough. Not many people around but Quinn didn't seem to notice, she was focused on placing one food ahead of the other, just taking in the rhythm of the walk, enjoying the quiet night that didn't messed up her mind with noises.

She was trying to keep her mind empty and clear, but thoughts of that woman kept crawling back, insinuating in her conscience. She had those images in her mind, pretty graphic, detailed, which was very weird given the fact that she was blindfolded or had her eyes closed all the time. And yet her body registered every single detail building up a whole image of a short and well built body, long legs, delicate fingers, soft hair. There was more, though, about her. It was not just her physical presence, it was the way that woman seemed to drawn Quinn to her, against all logic.

Some part of Quinn felt ashamed of herself because that night, for the first time since she was sorted as a slave, she gave up her pride and strength. That night she let a dominant took her, body and soul, like she promised herself she never would. That woman didn't even have to ask, Quinn simply offered herself: she gave the woman her respect, agreeing to keep her eyes closed, but also something else, when she returned her kisses and looked for more.

"Fuck Fabray, you're such an idiot!" She told herself in the night. It was a moment of weakness that was never going to be repeated. Never. Ever.

"Who's there?" A male voice called in the night having heard her. The officer was just a few steps away from her, mounting guard near a closed drug store. Quinn stepped into the light.

"I'm... it's me sir." She didn't want any trouble and she tried to sound as innocent as she could.

The man approached her, hand on his hip, ready to use a teaser if he had to. "What is your code, girl?"

"0157C" She repeated mechanically.

The officer typed it into his pad, while keeping an eye on her. She was suddenly very tired and she just wished she could just go back to her own house and sleep everything off.

"What are you doing on the street?" The man asked

"Walking?" She answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The officer didn't like her tone, he turned her around roughly, bending her arm behind her back.

"You're supposed to be on a claim. Are you a fugitive?"

"No, I'm not. She released me earlier."

The man showed her into the wall.

"Sure, do you play me for a fool, uh! You should come up with better lies, girl, or even better, stop lying at all and tell me why you're out during curfew."

"I didn't realize it was so late, I swear!"

"Fine, let's have it your way." He pressed her head harder into the wall as he fastened the cuffs behind her back "You're under custody of the Central Direction Second Department."

"No, I'm serious, ask the woman I..."

"Shut up!" He put a gag in her mouth to silence her, and called for a backup to bring her to the facility.

 

* * *

 

The phone rung in the night. Brittany was the first one to hear it and, turning around in their bed, she poked Santana.

"San, wake up. It's your phone."

"No it's not."

"Come on, it's waking me up. Answer!"

"They'll stop. Call back in the morning, it's not urgent, you're here, safe, nothing bad can be happening... Shit!"

The thought of Quinn in some kind of trouble wake her up and she reached for the phone.

Brittany couldn't hear what the person on the other side was saying but she opened her eyes enough to peek on Santana's face, and saw her turn into surprise, concern and then anger; all within a second.

"You got to be kidding me! ... No, no, ok... Fine, I'm coming, yes. Wait for me."

She closed the call and got up, looking for her clothes.

"What?"

"That stupid friend of yours just got arrested!" Santana jumped into some workout pants and put on the first t-shirt she found.

"Quinn?"

"They brought her to the Central Direction Facility near the pool center. I swear this time I am gonna kill her!"

"Should I come with you?"

"Not a good idea, curfew is still on, I don't want to take any chances" Santana quickly kissed her girlfriend and was ready to run away when Brittany cupped her face and brought her back for a deeper kiss, sweeter and warmer.

"Don't get mad at her, San." She whispered feeling the angry exhale from the latina.

"No, I will kill her gently, I promise."

 

* * *

 

Quinn was sitting on the floor, hugging her legs with cuffed hands. A back up officer came to bring her up and brought her on the Central Direction facility where they locked her in that room, turning the lights off and leaving her in complete darkness.

Quinn knew she was in serious trouble. What the hell was she thinking going out during curfew? That was a serious infraction, it could cost her a lot. She sighed, cursing herself.

The door opened with a metal clang and Santana entered the cell. She stood looking at her from above, flashing fire through her eyes. That was no good.

"San..."

"Shut up!" She raised a hand to silence her. "I promised B I wouldn't get mad at you so shut the fucking up because if you say so much as a single word I will lose it and kick your stupid ass, understood?"

Quinn nodded.

Every unclaimed slave had one emergency call and usually it was a dominant friend or co-worker. The emergency contact was called whenever the slave was injured or in trouble, like a sort of substitute owner, that could take charge of the slave's fate when things went wrong. Santana was Quinn's emergency contact. She knew the officers called her, it was standard procedure, so she somehow prepared herself for the latina's rage she knew she'd have to face.

Santana stormed out the cell leaving the door open behind her, so that Quinn could follow. They were expected in the Director's office.

The man responsible for the Second Department of Central Direction was young and incredibly well built. He had a firm handshake and a practical manners that Santana liked.

When he saw the two woman entering his office he got up welcoming Santana and inviting her to sit down, while Quinn stood a step behind, hands still cuffed in front of her.

He looked at the papers on his desk.

"We checked the slave's story and your girl was actually telling the truth: she was released earlier from her claim, the dominant confirmed it. I have to say this is the first time I heard of something like this happening, but it's not against the law so, the good news is that she's no fugitive and the main charged is been dropped." Santana nodded and kept listening. "On the other hand we have a charge for breaking the curfew, which is pretty serious by itself, and it gets even more serious given the fact that she's broken the law before."

Santana sensed Quinn's mood chance like she could sense storm approaching from the electricity in the air. She didn't need to see Quinn to understand she was going to do something stupid like talking back or protesting, so she reached for her cuffed hands, behind her right shoulder, and forcefully jerked her down on her knees. Quinn wasn't expecting this, not from her friend, but that was really no time to play gentle. Santana had to demonstrate she could control her, if she needed to, and if that made Quinn angry... well, fuck Quinn! It was Santana the one who had to pick her up in the middle of the night; it was her call!

Quinn fell on her knees but raised her head glancing at her friend with a surprised and angry look. The latina didn't even turn around, she reached for the top of Quinn's head and bent it down so Quinn would keep her eyes down at the floor. She felt her resisting, trying to rise again, refusing her best friend to treat her like that, but Santana pressed her head downer and kept her hand there for a few seconds. When she was sure Quinn understood the massage she sat back placing both her hands on her lap.

"I'm sorry." She apologized. "Please, continue."

That short scene had made an impression on the man, first because he knew Quinn Fabray, at least by name, second because he saw the latina control that wild slave without even turning around, sensing the slave changed mood and immediately taking control of the situation and third, because he saw Quinn actually trying to defy her but, in the end, giving up. He knew, in that moment, that if there was someone able to control that trouble maker, it was Santana Lopez.

"Central Direction Discipline Department is been alerted. They will probably decide of her tomorrow. They're usually pretty quick about this stuff, they don't want outlaws walking around freely in our streets."

"Of course."

"In the mean time can I bring her home? I need to..." Santana pause was theatrically balanced to let the man fill in the blank with whatever he wanted to, while she searched for an acceptable word to use. "...talk? to this girl."

The man nodded. "I think that could be arranged as long as you take full responsibility of her."

"That's no problem. I'll let my officer prepare the papers." He got up and extended his hand to dismiss them and Santana warmly smiled at him, thanking him for being so understanding and kind, then she turned around and her voice went cold as she imparted orders to Quinn.

"Up!" Quinn got up and shot an icy glance at her friend who didn't seem to notice as she walked past her and called her and ordered around with simple words and gestures. "Move!"

They walked to the front desk where an officer took Quinn's cuffs off and made Santana sign some paper. A minute later they were both in the latina's car, driving towards Quinn's apartment in silence.

 

* * *

 

Quinn went to sit on the couch. The drive home had been incredibly silent and she knew Santana was boiling up some real anger.

"San..." She tried.

"FUCK QUINN!" The latina yelled "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?" She kicked the couch unable to contain herself. "OUT DURING CURFEW, FOR GOD SAKE! ARE YOU INSANE?" She kicked the couch again, and again and again until her rage subsided and she fell sitting on the floor.

"I wasn't thinking, San, I swear to you I didn't mean it." Quinn eyes were watery now as the realization of all the consequences of her actions hit her. "I didn't thought it was so late, please, believe me, I've never..."

Quinn knew how much Santana and Britt had to sacrifice to keep her safe trough the years and she knew that being caught outside during curfew she just had just thrown away every sacrifice the two of them made. Because breaking curfew was the one thing that really got authorities mad, the one infraction that would never, ever, be forgiven or taken lightly: you could kill a dominant and they can consider your mitigating factors, but if you broke the curfew there were no excuses or alibi that the authorities would consider.

Santana hid her face behind her hands.

"I really fucked up now, haven't I?"

Santana sighed. "Damn, Quinn, what the hell happened?" Maybe for the first time in her life she felt Santana's voice weak and defeated.

And Quinn told her. Everything. From the claim to the whipping to the early release, the walk, everything, as she started quietly to cry because, well, because that was it. The end. Of everything.

When they were kids they used to tell each other stories about what happened to the slaves that broke the curfew, like the ones they told each other about pregnant teenagers. Exactly like the pregnant ones the curfew stories were so scary and absurd that, for a long time, Quinn thought they were just fake stories to keep kids in line. Except that the pregnant stories turned out to be pretty close to truth and, now, she was afraid that the curfew ones too were gonna be very realistic. There was one story, in particular, that she couldn't get out of her head. It was a story Darren used to tell when they were in first grade and he paid a lot of attention in describing the graphic details when he told them how disobedient slaves were tied arms and legs to four different motorcycles that were turned on and accelerate in four different directions till they tear apart the lambs and the slave was left with just his head attached to his torso, seeing its legs and arms detached and dying quickly after that in a pool of its own blood.

Quinn run to the bathroom to throw up.

When Santana got to her she was on the floor, crying. The latina held her for a while, trying to calm her down. Her mind kept on racing between thoughts. She was trying to have an idea, any idea, really, something to hold on, but, just as was happening to Quinn, even Santana's mind was filled with the stories they heard as children.

"I don't know what to do Quinn." She told her friend in a whisper. "Quinn I..." I have to go, I have to get out of here, I have to think, I have to clear my mind, I have to start detaching from you or tomorrow will be too much, I have to disappear, I have to run away, I have to forget you're my best friend... A lot of options run into Santana's mind as she loosened up her hold and let Quinn go.

The blonde girl nodded. In all those years Santana never left her side but that was the end of it. She reached the point of no return and she couldn't ask more to her friend. Goodbyes are hard to say. She tried to smile but she couldn't. If the last image her friend would have of her would be of a crying and messy Quinn on the floor, so be it. She throw herself at Santana's neck, trying to tell her everything without speaking, thanking her, saying how much she loved her and how grateful she was for their friendship, wishing her a long, happy life with Britt, silently ordering her not to have regrets.

Santana kissed her on the head, barely keeping the tears at bay, and then she run out of her house.

 

* * *

 

Santana Lopez was driving, not really paying attention to the street. She was acting on a hunch and she wasn't really sure it was turning out to be a good idea but, at that point, there wasn't much left to do. It was either that or just lay helpless waiting for the end, and Santana didn't like laying helpless unless Brittany was on top of her.

She hit the brakes of her car hard, blocking in front of a black iron gate. She pressed a green button under an intercom and kept it down until a small screen turned on and an angry, tired voice, asked who it was.

"Open up, dwarf. I need to talk to you."

There was a brief moment of silence as the woman in the house recognized Santana and processed the idea of her coming to her house, and then, with a buzz, the gate opened.

The woman was expecting her at the front door. She had a white tank top and loose grey pants, and she was obviously sleeping when Santana woke her up. The latina got out of her car and stormed into the house without giving so much as a greeting to the woman.

"Yeah, sure, Santana, please, come on in, it's not like we haven't seen each other for almost ten years now!  _Mi casa es tu casa!_ ".

"Cut the pleasantries, hobbit, I'm not here to catch up with you. I wanna know what you're up to."

The woman closed the door massaging her eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't think I understand what you're implying."

"Blonde, petite, goes by the name Quinn Fabray. Rings any bell?"

"Kind of."

"Why did you try to claim her?"

If the woman wasn't completely woken up that question did the trick. "How would you know that?" She joined Santana who had made her way to her lounge.

"Because I know things, that's what I do. So, again, why did you ask for a claim?"

"It's not yours business who I claim or why do I do it. You know where the door is, help yourself out, please. I'm going to go back to bed." The woman said turning to the stairs.

Santana sighed considering her options. She could show the brunette on the wall and beat some sense into her, or she could just say the truth. She went with the second option and sat on the couch.

"Quinn is in some serious trouble."

That stopped the brunette who turned around to face the other woman. "I don't know what you're thinking but if you're looking for someone to blame, that isn't me."

"Of course it is you dwarf. You messed up with her head and she lost it so much she broke the curfew and got caught!"

"Are you serious?" There was real concern in the woman's voice.

"Believe me, I wouldn't be here if this wasn't serious or if I had any other option. At all."

"Fuck!" The brunette sat on the couch opposite to Santana with a lost gaze. "When are they...?"

"Tomorrow." The latina answered knowing what the other woman wanted to ask. "They are going to sentence her in the afternoon."

"Fuck!"

The latina waited a few moments as the implications of Quinn breaking the curfew sank into the other woman.

"So, are you gonna sit here and say fuck some more times or are you gonna do something about it?"

"There's... I cant, Santana... this is..."

"Shut up, I know how many money you have, I know how many friends you have, and I happen you know you used to to screw one of the Discipline Department committee members, so save me the I don't part, please. That's bullshit!"

"How do you... never mind. It doesn't matter. Lauren, the committee member, we didn't really get along well."

"I don't care if you have to call in for favors or if you have to lower your panties and fuck someone, just get Quinn off the hook."

"I'm not that powerful Santana."

The latina wasn't expecting that answer.

When Quinn came home after the first claim with the mysterious woman, something tingled Santana's sixth sense. She dug to find out about the claimer and, although the woman made a lot of efforts to stay anonymous, she got to her anyway. At first she was surprised to find out who it was but then, the more she gathered information and recalled school memories, the more it started to make sense. She wasn't really sure it was a good thing but when she saw the effect it was having on Quinn she started to think it wasn't so bad either. It was something that shocked Quinn, made her uncomfortable in a good way, reactivating her instinct, her thoughts, her will. That woman was the first one who really challenged the challenging Quinn Fabray, and that had a positive effect on her friend.

"Yeah, ok, sorry for bothering you. For a moment I thought you did care about her. My mistake. I should have known this was all some sort of teenage revenge. Like in a bad movie you waited ten years to get back at her and now you got it. Congratulations." Santana got up and headed for the door.

"Hey!" The woman got up yelling at her. "I do care about her!" She took Santana's wrist forcing her to turn around. "You can't come to my house, accusing me of everything you can think of and then storm out giving me you're back while I'm talking to you!"

Santana pushed her against the wall. She was staring at the woman with her angry face, the one that worked so well when they both were in school but that, somehow, didn't have the same effect now that they were both adults

"Do you think I would ever come to you asking for help if I had any other chance at all? I would rather sell my soul to the devil than asking you for something, and yet I'm here. But you, miss I'm not breaking the low not even for someone I pretend to love, you don't care enough to even give it a try."

The woman bit her lip and then, suddenly, grab Santana's wrist turning her around showing the latina in the wall she bent her arm behind her back making her yelp. "Don't you ever do that again to me. Not in my house, not anywhere else." The woman waited a second for the threat to sink in and then she continued, releasing her grip. "Now, can we please sit and try to figure this thing out? We don't have much time.


	9. Public Property

**CHAPTER 9**  
Public property

 

Central Direction Officers came to her apartment in the morning to pick her up, earlier than she expected. She was sitting on the couch, staring blankly in front of her, thinking if there was something she would want to remember of her home, if there was something worth sticking in her mind, something that she could find comfort in when things would go really bad. There wasn't.

They drove her to an anonymous building in the north district and took her down some stairs into a room that looked a lot like a private cinema. They made her stand giving her back to a big screen, and when it was ligthed she was able to see, among the red chairs for the viewers, seven people sitting and looking at her. They were spread across the room, on different rows, like they were there by themselves and had nothing to do with the others.

"Girl, do you deny breaking the curfew yesterday?" The man who sat on the third row spoke to her. he had icy blue eyes and was wearing a dark suit that made his skin look even paler.

"No." There was no point in arguing. Quinn decided to keep what dignity she had left and just face whatever it was coming, although she was scare like never before in her life and she felt like bursting into cry anytime now.

"The Discipline Department reviewed your case and found you guilty as charged. Are you ready to hear your sentence?" She swallowed; suddenly it was to hard to speak or to keep looking at those men.

"You know, you're a very unique case, Quinn Fabray." The man who spoke was sitting in the farthest row, almost hidden in the dark. He cleaned his glasses while he was talking and then put them back on. "You know why?"

All the men in the room turned to look at her and she knew an answer was required. She hoped her voice didn't betray her fear.

"No sir."

The man studied her for a while, trying to see if she was pretending or saying the truth. After a short while he decided she was honest and he spoke again.

"You're probably the worthless slave in all the country, you constantly defy our society and order of things, you break the law and it doesn't matter how many people try to teach you to live properly, you keep on wasting every chance you're given. You don't thank anyone for what you've got, you just look at what you don't have and whine about it."

Those words hit her more than she expected. Was it real? Was she still mourning the life she lost as a teenager? Did she waste her whole life defying something that didn't need to be defied? No, surely not. That was just her fear talking.

"And yet, girl, there are so many people interested in you, important people, that would be very disappointed if we'd carry on our judgment and sentence you to death as you should."

Death sentence, was it true then?

"You're their prey" the man continued "and you know what happens to preys, girl?" That was a question that didn't need to be answered. "The got captured or they die trying to escape."

Silence fell for a while. Quinn didn't dare to lift her head. She had been scared before in her life but she had never, ever, felts so paralyzed and impotent. She was always able to find some strength in her own confidence, in the promise she made to herself so many years ago. She faked toughness even when she didn't feel tough but now she couldn't. She simply couldn't.

"Since you're so unique, girl, we've thought of something uniquely fitting for your situation. I have to say we had our moral reserves on this one, but you really left us no choice and so I hereby declare you're no longer public property. Your state as a slave stays but you will no benefit of the Central Direction protection anymore. Every injury you will sustain, will it be physical, mental or emotional, will it be temporary or permanent, will it be curable or fatal, will not long be charged as damaging public property. And, as you're no longer of public concern, you will not have a house assigned to you anymore, nor clothes or food. From this moment on whatever happens to you is a matter of fact between you and the dominants who wants to claim you."

Quinn felt like falling, the floor opening under her feet. Hands took her away. Hallways, a car, streets, noises around her, voices murmuring, no one really speaking to her. Guards were exchanging weird looks as she walked by, dark rooms, no more windows around her, stairs, metallic sounds, echoes, light flickering, muffled steps on the floor. Deadly silence. Cold.

Hands tore off her clothes and she was thrown in a small room with nothing in it. Then the lights went off and it was all dark.

 

* * *

 

Sun burning her eyes.

Legs so tired they gave up and made her fall down.

Blood. Dripping from her mouth.

Trapped in a dark place. A coffin. Legs and arms hitting on raw wood. Panic. Screams until her voice died echoing in her head. Bruises on her hands as she tried to scratch the surface. Was she buried alive? Was she even alive? The air went thin, it was getting harder to breathe. The thumps of her feet hitting the wood in the last feeble attempt to escape. Clumsy thoughts. Blurry words. Unconsciousness.

Ice cold on her skin, then a hot, burning pain. The cuts on her wrist, while she fought the restraints. Sounds. Words. Laughs.

Was it in her room? Was it during a claim? It didn't matter, anyway.

Needle in her vein. Stomach turning and twisting. Throwing up. A sour taste in the mouth. Thirsty. Water, please, just some water.

A crack in the shoulder. Arm falling limp at her side.

She just wished she could die.

Flowers changed color depending on your mood, like Britt said. Britt. A sting in her heart, then another, more painful, on her side, as the whip hit her bringing her back to reality. Quinn fought with herself grasping the borders of her dreamy illogic reality, trying to throw herself back into it. No Britt, no hopes, no memories, that was the trick, she needed to cancel everything real, even her friends. She went back to her world, flowers were singing hip pop hits. They had beautiful contralto's voices.

She dreamt of Santana once. She dreamt of her voice and her touch on her head. She dreamt of hearing her calling stupid moron once again and she smiled, in her dream. She heard her say to hold on, to have faith in the unholy trinity, to have faith in her and Britt because they were getting help. In the dream she felt hurt because, even in there, she knew it wasn't real.

"Just hold in there Q. If you give up or die I swear I will come looking for your ghostly ass and you won't like it. Do you get it?"

When they woke her up she couldn't remember her dream, she just regain consciousness thinking of Santana, and she had to push that thought far away where she couldn't reach it anymore. Facing what she had lost was too much to handle.

Flowers singing with beautiful contralto's voices.

 

* * *

 

"Dwarf."

"Lopez."

The woman moved aside to let the couple in her house and Brittany throw herself at the woman trapping her in a tight embrace.

"Oh God, you're the perfect size for hugging. I forgot that!" She said smiling, making the woman laugh at her comment.

"I'm so glad to see you too Britt."

"She's not a puppy, B, leave her alone." Santana snapped as she took her spot on the couch. "So, any news?"

The blonde shook her head and went sitting next to her girlfriend.

"You tell me. Have you seen her?"

"I did."

Santana bought for herself the chance to see Quinn paying pretty much all she had left on her account but when she finally saw her there was very little to see or to talk about. Quinn was out, unconscious, a bloody body that was breathing for some unknown physical law or, maybe, just because of her will. She tried to talk to her in her state but she wasn't sure her friend heard her.

"How was she?"

"Unconscious. Almost dead. Or so it seemed to me, anyway. We can't really wait much longer. Did you get me a claim with her?"

Santana and Brittany talked about it and agreed that it was the only thing left. If Santana could have a regular claim she could corrupt an officer into saying that Quinn willingly accepted the claim and from that moment on Santana would be the only responsible for her, elevating her to the status of a fully claimed slave.

"Her schedule is full. Since they took off any limits with her claimers from everywhere asked for their turn. It is nut, she's been booked for the whole next year." Explained the woman, almost excusing herself for the partial failure.

"She's not gonna make it till the next year."

"I've tried San, and I will keep on trying, but that's the best I can do right now. At least for you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I still have a chance: my last claim. I was on the list well before all this and I can ask for my turn."

"When?"

"It was due next month but..."

"But? For God's sake do I have to drag out every single word out of you? Speak!"

"I was able to anticipate it to the next week."

"Did you really had to have sex with someone?" asked Brittany, a really curious look on her face. "Santana said she suggested you lower your panties to help Quinn."

The woman turned to Santana who shrugged "Whatever it takes, dwarf."

"Actually it didn't come to that. It was an hard blow to my self esteem but it seems that a lot of people prefer vulgar money over my body so, to answer your question, no, I didn't have sex to obtain what we needed, I just paid so they move my turn earlier."

"That's a shame. Sex is fun." Brittany smirked knowingly toward her girlfriend and the other woman looked away, embarrassed.

"But it's a good thing. We can come here too and talk to her and..."

"No!" The woman's tone didn't leave any chance of debate. "That's not something you will interfere, Lopez. Not you, not Brittany. It's between me and her."

"And this is the stupidest thing I've ever heard, which is saying something given the fact that I shared my whole life with Quinn Febray: one of the stupidest idiots in the world. You're just another name, we need to talk her into this, you can pretend to show up in her life after what the two of you went trough and expect everything to go fine." Santana was almost yelling now and Brittany was holding a hand on her knee trying to calm her down.

"Claiming is serious Santana, you know it as well as I do. I won't have her commit to me in the wrong way."

"You'd rather see her death."

The woman bit the inside of her mouth. "I'm sorry. I know it's dangerous and maybe, like you said, stupid, but I will have her on my terms or I won't have her at all."

"Ok, so, don't take what I am going to say to you in the wrong way, but your ego could obscure the moon if you think Quinn Fabray will just submit to you. Also, you're a fucking idiot." Santana paused, thinking for a moment. "On second thoughts, rewind that, take it the wrong way, that's what I mean anyway."

The woman didn't seem to take Santana's words too personal "Would you have Brittany accept your claim on those terms?"

"This is not about me and B."

"You're right. This is about me and Quinn and you won't interfere."

"If we loose her..."

"If we loose her you still have your chance." The woman answered.

"Not enough."

"If we loose her I will let you kick my ass."

"Tempting. But, again, not enough."

The woman looked at Santana seriously. "I know what I'm doing. We won't loose her. I won't loose her."


	10. Honesty

Quinn didn't even recognize the house until she saw the red headed slave walking toward her with a concerned look on her face. She had already lost count of days and places.

"Are you ok girl?"

No, she wasn't. She was tired, and hurt, and feverish and she was havin an hard time functioning in the most basic way. If she had a choice at that moment she would have chosen to die because, despite everything, it was simply too much for her body and mind to bear. She had no strength left.

Quinn took the blindfold the other slave was holding and tied it around her head, undressed, and knelt on the floor. Third time with this woman. Last time. Ever.

She felt her coming in and stop right at the door, looking at her. She heard her footsteps getting closer and then a hand took her chin, lifting her head up. She could physically feel her gaze and she had a clear picture of brown eyes staring at her with concern. She turned away.

The woman's hands slid down her arms as she moved around and, although it might have been just her imagination, Quinn thought that she heard the woman gasp when she saw her burned back.

The woman looked for Quinn's hand and helped her to her feet. Still holding her, she moved out of the room, up the stairs and into a part of the house where Quinn had never been before. She gently pushed until Quinn hit something soft with her knee and realized it was a bed. The woman guided her and made her lay with her belly down, then she took her wrists tying them loosely under the cushion and leaving her feet free.

For a moment the woman disappeared but then Quinn felt her touch on her calf. She was applying some sort of cream on her, that warmed her skin and made her muscle tingle in a good way. Her touch was strong but gentle. She took her time massaging every inch of her body and it felt so good that actually Quinn wanted to cry. It had been so long since anyone touched like that, not in a sexual way, not to inflict pain, just the simple, clean touch of someone who was taking care of her. It was so unusual and weird to her, now, that it scared her.

The woman brought a glass to her lips, making her drink. There was something in it, she could taste it on her lips, sweet in a bad way, like a medicine.

Her body slowly relaxed and her mind became blank. There were no thoughts anymore, no worries, no fears, no hopes; she was just glad to have a moment to rest and feel like a real person again. Minutes passed by; the woman's attentions were restless and gentle, and at every touch Quinn felt more like herself. She didn't know how long it would last but, as her mind started functioning again, she began to feel uneasy. She had come to a point where she could exist out of the real world, barely caring about what happened to her, but now that woman was dragging her again into a reality of pain and misery she was not able to face anymore.

It wasn't right.

She lifted her head, turning back as much as she could, as if to look at the woman. Even if she couldn't see her Quinn wanted to make it obvious.

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice was hoarse. She hadn't spoke in days except for screams. "Talk to me, please." A slap hit her ass but it didn't have any effect, at all: she was Quinn fucking Fabray, a slap couldn't really bother her. "Please, tell me why you're doing this…" Quinn was pleading, now, the need evident in her voice. She was confused, and exhausted and most of all she couldn't understand why that woman wanted to heal her. It drove her crazy, on the verge of tears. The woman left for a few moments and then came back, sitting again on her lower back, and tried to put a gag on Quinn, but the blonde fought, moving her head to avoid the gag. "No, don't! Please…" The woman grabbed Quinn's hair, pulling her head back, and as Quinn opened her mouth in surprise she quickly put the gag in place. The blonde screamed in it, frustrated, and when the woman let her go, Quinn's head fell, defeated, on the bed. She was sobbing, now, tears falling past the blindfold into the cushion. The woman gave her a few moments to calm down and then resumed her task as Quinn sobs quietly fade into silence.

This time a very cold cream was spread on her burned back. Quinn shivered at the contact but then the coldness made her feel better. She could almost sense the cream penetrating her skin, dissolve in her tissues and crawling in microscopic particles beneath the skin. Micro particles, white particles, with the smallest batons ever, walking around her system, kicking the asses of her red blood cells, shooting angry glances to the platelets, silently ordering them to move up, you shirkers, we need to speed up this healing process, ok?

Quinn smiled. This was so Brittany of her.

Should micro white particles have a name? They should. Bob. Or Bobby. Bobby was a nice name for particles right? BobbyOne, BobbyTwo, BobbyThree? How many particles there are in a cold cream? Probably too many. Could she count them? Maybe, if she had enough time to live she could count them all and know every single of them. Hello BobbyOne, this is Quinn Fabray, nice to meet you. Hello BobbyTwo, this is Quinn Fabray, nice to meet you. Hello BobbyThree... Ow, there was definitely something in that glass. It tasted like lemon. No, not lemon, medicine. Right.

The woman unchained her right wrist and brought her arm down, letting it rest on her side while she stroked her shoulder. Her gag had been removed too even if she didn't remember when, probably while she was meeting Bobby and his brothers. Quinn was too tired to keep her guard up, she closed her eyes and let the feeling in. Soon she started to doze off, and her next actions were purely instinctual.

When the woman realized the body underneath her was completely relaxed, probably even sleeping, she got up ready to leave the room. But in the moment she was turning around to leave, Quinn's free hand grasped her wrist tightly. She squeezed it, then she moved down, looking for the woman's fingers, interlacing them with her own. There was a moment of stillness, then the woman came closer, still holding Quinn's hand. She caressed the forearm a few times until Quinn's fingers lost the will to clench on hers, and then slipped away, leaving Quinn to her rest.

 

* * *

 

Quinn didn't know she was awake until she heard the footsteps in the room. She had a quiet and restful night unlike any other in the past months. She woke up by herself, with the tail of a dream in her mind.

She was in her teenage room and people were knocking at her door. She knew who it was before opening the door: it was her math teacher, then Sam, then Nicole, then the English substitute they had for a couple of months… She sent them all away without opening. Then someone else knocked at the door and Quinn didn't recognize who it was. She knew it was a classmate, she knew it was a female, and for a second she thought it might be Santana but that feeling… no, it wasn't her. She hesitated, hand on the door's handle, anxious. In the dream she kept repeating herself to open the door and see who it was, but she couldn't, she felt like she knew but she couldn't quite grasp it clearly her identity; it was there, just under the surface, and yet it seemed like some part of her was triying hard not to recognize her. Despite the fact that she didn't open the door, the woman came in her room, maybe passing through like a ghost. Quinn was so afraid to look at her she kept her eyes cast down, fearing if she saw her face would be so scary she would just die instantly. She was a ghost, after all.

By the time the ghostly presence approached her Quinn realized she was awake and conscious and what she was seeing in her mind was no longer a dream. Someone was getting closer; she was getting closer. Quinn opened her eyes to see the light hit her cushion and she understood, all of a sudden, that her blindfold must have loosen up during her sleep.

She raised her free hand, signaling the woman to stop, and when she did Quinn reached behind her head positioning the blindfold again on her eyes and tying a knot behind her head. It wasn't planned, it just felt right. Right because that woman took care of her and showed her some sort of respect. It was just fair to return her as much. If she didn't want Quinn to see her, Quinn would not.

Blind again she lowered her head on the cushion patiently waiting for whatever was coming which, in this case, was a kiss. A sweet one, slow and seductive, the woman's tongue parting her lips and invading her mouth, tasting it, making it her own. Quinn responded and, this time, when after a short break to breathe, the blonde looked for her mouth again, she didn't move back.

 

* * *

 

This was so wrong, and in so many ways, that Quinn was even tired of repeating to herself to stop it. Her rationality abdicated the moment her body took over and tightened the blindfold back in place. Some part of her was trying to tell herself to get a grip; another part was just telling her to relax and enjoy the ride, because who knew when it would happen to her again?

She moaned, pressing the woman's lips to her own. The woman tasted like yellow, intoxicating, electric, energetic; like the sun, illuminating, hot, gigantic, endless.

She pushed back to breathe, foreheads pressed together. Her mouth opened to say something but she stopped, remembering the woman didn't want her to. It was not because a dominant didn't gave her permission to talk, it was because that woman asked not to and she wanted to respect her desire.

The woman saw her struggle and deciding to obey to her silent order, and in that moment she knew it was time. She took Quinn's hands and lifted her up from the bed, making her stand in the middle of the room. She pressed a finger to Quinn's lips, reached for the back of Quinn's head and untied the knot keeping the blindfold in place. The blindfold fell down to the floor.

Quinn blinked a few times, then her eyes widen in horror. She stepped back, almost falling, turning around to run away, but the woman followed her and, grabbing her wrist, forced her to turn back.

"Let me go, now LET ME GO RACHEL!" she screamed, trying to free herself, but Rachel Berry didn't let her slip away. Instead she tightened her grip and forced Quinn to take some steps to the left, placing her with her back on the wall.

"Did I give you the permission to speak?"

It was the first time she heard her voice in almost ten years and it surprised Quinn how she missed that sound. It moved something in her belly, and a giant knot she hadn't even known she had, melt inside her, but that feeling also scared the hell out of her and she started to fight back, pushing and pulling, trying to get rid of Rachel.

The other woman pinned her to the wall, using her whole body, dragging their hands on the sides of Quinn's head.

"Please, let me go, Rachel, please!" Quinn's voice was softer now, a pleading whisper of pain. She had turned her head to avoid looking at her and was staring blankly at the room's door, hoping she could open it with her own mind and fly away.

"Look at me, Quinn."

"Don't... please..."

"Look at me." Rachel repeated. It wasn't an order, it was a request.

Slowly Quinn turned her face and when their eyes met something broke and Quinn started crying.

 

* * *

 

_"Ok, she's cute, I get it, and if you wanna fuck around you have my blessing but, Rachel Berry? Seriously? Quinn, any girl in this school would be more than willing to try out a same sex experience with you: you could aim to something better."_

_"Shut up Santana."_

_"You're my co-regent, Q, we have to keep standards, you know that. An experimental phase is no excuse to lower yourself so much."_

_Quinn Fabray stopped in the middle of the hallway, hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"_

_"I'm not even gonna turn around, Fabray, if you're going to say that this is not a phase, this is love, endless love. Do you hear me?"_

_Santana kept walking and disappeared to her class._

_  
_

* * *

 

Rachel released her and watched her falli to the floor, hugging her legs and hiding her face on her knees, sobbing quietly. She stepped back and sat on the bed, waiting for Quinn to be calm and in control enough. It took her a few minutes but finally Quinn's sobs stopped, although she didn't lift her head. Rachel knew this was the moment when Quinn was building up her walls again. If she succeeded everything would be more difficult than what it was already, and she couldn't let it happen.

She got up from the bed and went sitting on the floor next to her, shoulders almost touching. She knew Quinn noticed her because her breathe rhythm changed, but the blonde didn't move or acknowledge her presence. She was playing tough, as Rachel thought she would, but she was ready for it. She had been preparing herself for the past ten years.

"Why did you take my hand?" the brunette asked. "Yesterday, and this morning too."

"I don't know."

"Yes you do."

"Oh, of course, miss." Quinn stressed the last word, glancing angrily at the woman sitting next to her "I forgot, you dominants know everything, right? Even what I do or don't know!" Quinn had so many feelings boiling up that she was switching from one to the other: she was angry and she felt like a fool because even if some part of her tried to tell her, the whole time, that she knew that woman, she didn't listen to it, and now she felt overwhelmed and stupid because, of all the people in the world, Rachel Berry had always been the last one she wanted to see in her slave condition, and yet she was always the one person she hoped to meet again.

"I'm merely stating a fact. You know why you do what you do, you always did."

"What do you want Rachel?" asked Quinn, avoiding the topic.

"Answers. I've been waiting for answers for quite some time now."

"You could write me a letter."

"I did. And you never answered."

"I never got it."

"Liar."

"And how would you know that?"

"Because being a dominant has its privileges, Quinn, and I used mine to keep an eye on you."

Quinn pondered the idea of Rachel Berry quietly following her steps during the past years. She imagined her as a shadow on the nights she came back from her claims, an anonymous woman sitting on the bench while she walked around the park with B, a mysterious domme behind the mirror during her sessions.

"Have you been stalking me?"

"Like I said," she stated calmly, "I've been keeping an eye on you. I did care for you; you were my first girlfriend after all."

"We weren't, you and I..."

"What? What were we Quinn? Girlfriends? Friends with benefits? Frienemis with benefits? Occasional lesbian fuckers? What?"

"I don't know why you're bringing this up now."

"Because you never brought it up back then, or let me ask, or just, I don't know, thought about it."

"There was nothing to think or talk about."

"See?" Rachel's voice was higher now. "That's what I'm talking about: you, dismissing feelings like they mean nothing when, really, they mean everything, Quinn."

"I didn't have feelings for you, I'm sorry if you misunderstood my behavior. I was young and stupid, I guess. You were nice and, I don't know, I wanted to try it, ok? I wanted to try you. Sorry if I hurt you."

"Ok." Rachel's voice was calm and quiet when she answered.

"Ok?"

"Well, like you said, we were young, you were stupid. I can understand that."

"Good." Quinn was surprised by how quickly Rachel gave up and accepted her words but she wasn't going to complain. "So we're ok?"

"Yes, of course we're ok. At least for the teenager thing. You still have to explain to me why it felt right to hold my hand these two days if there were no feelings involved, though."

"Oh, knock it off Berry!" Quinn got up, yelling at the brunette.

"Language, girl." Rachel intentionally called her girl to remind her of their position and Quinn bit her inner cheek looking away. "I demand an answer."

Quinn breathed deeply. "Well, Miss," she said stressing Rachel's title with her voice "I don't know. I'm sorry if my answer displease you; if you prefer I can come up with a lie that will satisfy you, but if you want the truth you already have it: I don't know. Sometimes I just act and that's that, no reason behind."

Rachel smirked getting on her feet. "You're a terrible liar Quinn Fabrary, but luckily we do have 36 hours, more or less, to catch up on the past and fill in the blanks of the present. You do remember that, don't you?" Quinn's eyes hardened as her lips turned into a thin white line. If that was how Rachel Berry wanted to play, then fine, Quinn would play along. "Scared of spending a day and a half with me, Febray?"

"Should I be?"

Rachel smiled and turned around. "You can shower and dress. Open the wardrobe and take what you want." She said leaving the room. "I will be waiting in the kitchen."

 

* * *

 

_"Can I use your shower?"_

_"Knock yourself out, as long as I can watch."_

_"Quinn!"_

_"Just saying." She smiled kissing her._

_Rachel loved that playful side of Quinn-the-chosen-one-Febray. There was so much about her that the rest of the word wasn't allowed to see, and Rachel felt privileged to know who Quinn really was. She placed a book in Quinn's hands and went running the water for her shower._

_Quinn tried to read it but it was useless. She was always a good student but, like any other student, she had an Achille's heel._

_"Hey, can I peak at your chem paper?"_

_"No way, cheater."_

_"Come on, I won't copy, it's just to get some ideas."_

_"It's due tomorrow Quinn, you're were supposed to have ideas a month ago," Rachel called from the shower._

_"Fine, I'll have Santana scare someone off so I can steal their paper," Quinn whispered, rolling her eyes._

_"I hear you and no, you're not!"_

_"How come you have superhero hearing now?"_

_Rachel's face stuck out. "I don't need superpowers to know what you were going to say. I know you better than you do, Miss Fabray." Water was still dripping from her wet hair when she re entered the room with fresh clothes on._

_"If you want me to study you shouldn't walk around my room like that," Quinn smirked, getting up and searching for Rachel's lips._

_"Get away Fabray, time to get serious. Oh no, don't even try that puppy look on me."_

_But Quinn did try it, and she succeeded too, capturing Rachel's lip in a long, passionate kiss that made the brunette's knees go weak. The day after she got her first F ever._

_  
_

* * *

 

As soon as Rachel left the room Quinn fell sitting to the bed, suddenly aware of everything, her nakedness, her wounds, her tired and abused body. She buried her face in her hands and breathed deeply. For the first time in her life she really couldn't see what was waiting for her.

She went into the shower, letting the water wash off some of the soreness of her body and twitching as the water hit her burned back. As she lay with her forehead on the tiled wall memories of her second claim with Rachel flashed through her mind. The whipping, the clamps, the hug. Every drop of water was helping her come back to herself after days (weeks? months?) when she wasn't aware of anything but pain and loss.

When she returned to the room, she took a gray sweater with a hood and a pair of loose pants. Somehow she didn't see Rachel in those clothes and she wondered who they belonged to. Did they belong to some of her subs? A former lover? An actual lover?

Exiting the room and finding herself in the hallway, she realized she didn't know the house and had no idea where the kitchen was. She walked around finding the room where she was first brought on her first day, the one with the loft and wooden stairs, then a multimedia room that could easily have been a small cinema, and a storage room full of food supplies. Then, as she approached the back of the house, she found the kitchen. It had brown furniture and a yellowish floor like she imagined.

"Oh, there you are. I thought you'd flushed yourself down the toilet, Q."

"What?"

"It's been more than an hour!" Rachel explained, pointing to the watch on the wall.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

"It's ok, "Rachel reassured her. "I was just worried for you. Now, to more pressing business: are you hungry?"

"No." But her stomach murmured in protest of her denial.

"That sounded more like a yes to me." Rachel laughed "Sit. I might not be an excellent cook, but I make decent meals." Rachel saw Quinn hesitate, and she dispelled her doubts talking to her gently. "Sit at the table, Quinn." Quinn blushed. Rachel knew she was wondering if she had to kneel on the floor, and the fact the other woman knew it made her feel vulnerable. More than ever. Rachel Berry could really read into her mind and Quinn had never been so naked in front of anybody else.

Rachel placed a plate of pasta in front of her, and the went to the other side of the table, sitting down.

 

* * *

 

_"Stop. Quinn, stop!"_

_"What? Why? Are you ok?" Rachel's hands were on her shoulder pushing her away._

_"I can't do this!"_

_"Why? Did I do something wrong?" There was real concern in Quinn's voice and usually that would make Rachel go back on her decision but, this time, she had promised herself she wouldn't._

_"Yes, well, no. Sort of."_

_"I'm gonna need a little bit more than that, Rach."_

_The other girl sighed and licked her lips, trying to remember the speech she prepared for this moment. Of course she completely forgot it._

_"I can't do this, I can't be the five minute break in the backyard, Quinn."_

_"Ok, let's make it ten minutes in the gym then." Quinn smiled, playful._

_"I'm serious! I won't do this anymore; no more making out, kissing, sex, being your plaything, until you break up with Sam, Quinn!"_

_The blonde girl stepped away raising one eyebrow. "Ok, that I didn't see coming." She thought about it for a while. "Are you serious?"_

_"I don't see the problem, Q. Everyone knows about Santana and Brittany and there's..."_

_"No, no, that's..." Quinn raised her hands. For a second she hoped this was going to be some sort of sick prank, but Rachel was deadly serious. "I mean, it's not a problem that you're a girl."_

_"Then what is the problem? 'Cause I know you have feelings for me Q."_

_"Let's not start on the feelings thing, ok Rach?" The blonde girl was getting nervous now. Feelings talk wasn't her best topic and she definitely wanted to avoid feelings talk with the girl who turned her whole world upside out. "This, you and I, this is simply not meant to happen."_

_"But why?" Rachel's voice was high, right now, as she took Quinn's hands on her own, briefly, before the other girl escaped the grip, turning away._

_"Come on Rach, I'm... me, and you're..."_

_"Me?"_

_"Don't say it like that, you're..."_

_"What? I am what, Quinn? A loser? An idiot? A plaything?"_

_"You're uncertain Rach!" Quinn yelled at her. "And I'm not."_

_Uncertainty was a really heavy weight to have on the shoulders when you reach the sorting age._

_There were some people, like her, or Santana, who always showed the right attitude of their spirit and nobody ever doubted the group they belong to. They were natural dominants or submissive, and their sorting was going to be a really easy and predictable one. Then there were people who somehow showed both dominant and submissive traits in their persona, and although it might different from case to case, even in them, usually, there was a definite attitude, although less clearer than with the natural born ones. And then there were the uncertain._

_It was fairly common to be uncertain until the age of 14 or 15 but usually, around that age, distinctive traits started to show. If you reached your 16th birthday without having a clear attitude then you were marked as "uncertain". The sorting of an uncertain was tough and tricky; the Central Direction officers, who were meant to see your real nature, took a lot of time to decide of your destiny; and since nobody really knew where you were going to end up, if you were going to be a slave or a dominant, you ended up being sort of an outcast. You were a black hole; rules didn't apply to you and therefore you were non-existent, and usually end up befriending other uncertains and forming a social class on your own, avoided by slaves and dominants equally._

_"What if you end up a dominant Rach? We wouldn't be able to be together, there are rules!"_

_"But that's the beauty of uncertainty, Q." She took Quinn's hands "I can be whoever I want."_

_"That's not how it works and you know it."_

_"I don't care who I will be as long as I am with you."_

_"Don't. Don't say it, don't even think it Rachel. The sorting is meant for life and it has to reflect your real attitude. You don't want to be sorted into the wrong group for the rest of your life."_

_"There is only one thing I want: you. Everything else doesn't matter."_

_Quinn moved away, abruptly. "No. I won't let you do it."_

_"You don't let me do anything, I make my own decisions."_

_"And I'm making mine, Rach. This thing is over. Right here, right now. It was a mistake all along, anyway, a game gone too far."_

_"Ok, ok, I get it, you're upset, you don't need to be, if it bothers you..."_

_"No, what bothers me is that this thing is gone too far. I thought you knew this was a game, Rachel, you're not my soul mate or anything."_

_  
_

* * *

 

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?"

"Are you an excellent cook?"

Quinn looked at her astonished. "Are we really gonna make some small talk like that?"

"Are we not?"

"I don't know, Rachel," Quinn answered, an annoyed tone in her voice. "You come back into my life after almost ten years and you tried to claim me. Do we need to talk about how I cook pasta?"

"So, you do cook pasta?" Quinn raised her eyebrow. "Ok, fine, I was just trying to make you more comfortable."

"You're failing," Quinn said coldly.

"Then you tell me: what do you want to talk about?"

"Why did you ask to claim me?"

"I don't know, Quinn. Usually why would you ask for a claim?"

"I don't need a savior."

"Good, 'cause I don't look good in a shiny armor. And besides, you're the one with the savior complex, not me. More pasta?"

"I've never been a savior."

"Sure, that whole thing you had during school, leaving me for Sam; it had nothing to do with the fact I was ready to give up my all life for you and you wanted to break my heart so I would stay away from you and get my sorting the way it was supposed to be, right?"

"They're called teenage hormones, Rach. He was cute, I wanted to fuck him, I did. End of story." She took her fork and forced some food down her throat.

 

* * *

 

_"Oh, baby."_

_"Don't."_

_Sam looked down at his girlfriend perplexed. Quinn had just moved away from him after a long kissing session that got him moaning and hard. "What? What now? Are you gonna stop like that?"_

_"Don't call me baby, babe, honey or any of that. Do you get it?"_

_"I thought it was sweet."_

_Sam could have been a nice catch if only she was slightly interested in him. Blond, cute, fit, with a weird sense of humor and a big ego but, hey, nobody is perfect. He was in the football team, which was always a plus, and although he wasn't a natural as Quinn, he was probably going to be sorted as a nice and successful slave, destined for a career in professional sport._

_Quinn started to date him when she found out Rachel was something more than a simple entertainment for her. With the brunette it was a game in the beginning: Rachel was a nice prey and Quinn had a lot of fun catching and taming her. She liked to tease her, boss her around, sometimes, take advantage of her soft lips and her beautiful body as much as she could. Their love session were quick and almost abrupt, at the beginning, with Quinn taking what she needed and not caring much about anything else: it was a game, after all, and she wanted to be sure to be the only winner. But as the days went by and Rachel's touch became more experienced and educated, something started to happen: quick and silent became slow and caring; selfish and practical turned into longing stares and breaths melted in endless kisses. Every time she had sex with Rachel it was like going backwards: she was supposed to be more and more confident and steady and, instead, she became more and more uncertain, her hands trembling because of some sort of weird respect and emotion every time she touched Rachel's skin._

_"We're not sweet. We are..." Quinn tugged her hair behind her ear, thinking. "...fuck buddies, Sam. Try to remember."_

_When Quinn realized she was getting too attached she tried to back off. She had to prove to herself she was not addicted to the brunette and, to do so, she started to officially date Sam while keeping Rachel as a plaything she could turn to when she needed. And she needed her a lot._

_"Is Rachel your fuck buddy too?"_

_"What?"_

_"I just wanna know. I really don't care what you do with her but..." Quinn looked at him shocked "Oh, come on, Quinn, everybody knows about the two of you. I really don't care about it, it's not like I wanna share my whole life with you or anything, just try to be a little more subtle, can you? Some people might see it as a sign of weakness for me."_

_"Wow, that..." Sam took her by surprise, leaving her speechless, "No, she's not," she answered after a while. "She's..."_

_"What?"_

_"She's nothing. She's nothing to me."_

_Maybe, if she said it enough times she could convince herself of it._

_  
_

* * *

 

"Have you finished? Your pasta, I mean." Quinn pushed away the plate and Rachel took it to the sink. "If you need some painkillers or something, this might be a good time to take them."

"I'm fine." Quinn answered automatically. She was always fine.

Rachel put a white pill on the table filling Quinn's glass but the blonde move it away. "I said I'm fine."

Rachel walked past her, casually pressing her hand on Quinn's back, over her bruise, making her wince.

"Sure, that sounds like fine to me." Quinn shot her an icy and angry look. "You know a funny thing? If you were blinded, naked and on your knees, you would have taken that pill gratefully."

"Do you want me naked on my knees?" The blonde asked provocatively.

"I want you to think of yourself, for once, and do what it's best for you. You have a talent for always taking the wrong road."

"You don't have to agree with my decision, but they're still mine to take."

"Not now. For the moment you're mine and you will do as I say: take the pill."

"And if I don't?"

Quinn knew what usually came at this point: a slap, an icy look, someone would take her arms so she wouldn't be able to fight and then the pill would be showed down her throat, a hand covering her mouth and nose till she swallowed it.

"Take the pill." Rachel simply repeated "I'll wait for you in the lounge."

 

* * *

 

_"What exactly where you thinking Rachel?" Quinn tugged the blanket around her shoulder. "Running in the rain? Come on!"_

_"You do it," she protested, eyes closed and cheeks red for the fever._

_"Yes, but you should know I'm one in a million, right?" Rachel smiled even in her almost sleepy state. "Here, take this!" Quinn put a pill on her mouth and then brought a glass of water to her lips. Rachel drank quickly. "Do you need anything? Another blanket?"_

_"It's ok, I'm just gonna sleep it off. Go! You're late for practice."_

_Quinn shook her head. "I think I'll pass on this one today."_

_"Coach will have your head if you don't show up."_

_"Probably." She crawled up in the bed, lying on her side next to Rachel._

_"Are you going all sentimental and caring on me, Fabray?"_

_"Don't flatter yourself Berry, I'm just tired. You being ill is an accidental coincidence."_

_Rachel smiled and moved a little closer to Quinn, feeling her arms close around her."If you say so."_

_  
_

* * *

 

Quinn looked at Rachel leaving the kitchen, the pill still on the table. She took it, reluctantly, and then followed the other woman in the lounge.

Rachel was going through some channels on the TV, searching something to watch. She saw her entering the room and pointed to the couch.

"Right corner, if I remember correctly, right? That's your spot."

Quinn sat silently and waited for Rachel to join her. This whole evening was bringing back so many memories she thought she had left behind and forgotten, but that were realer, more than ever. Quinn felt like she was spinning around, everything was blurry and there was simply too much to think about and no time to do it properly. She had to go one step at the time and she decided to ask what was bothering her since the beginning.

"Why didn't you ask Rachel?"

"Ask what?"

"The claim. Why didn't you formally asked me if I wanted to be yours?"

"If I did you would have said no." Rachel sat next to her "Look, this whole claim was about one thing only," Rachel tried to explain. "Honesty. At first I wanted you to be honest to yourself and with me, and you were. You gave me defiance when you thought I couldn't handle you, and you gave me respect when I demanded it. And you were honest to yourself too, when you acknowledged whatever feeling you had for me and kissed me back and looked for my touch."

"That was..."

"Let me finish Quinn," Rachel stopped her. "You kept your end of the bargain and I thought it was time for me to be honest with you too. That's why I let you know it was me, and that's why I'm answering and I will answer to whatever questions you have for me."

Quinn stayed silent for second, then turned around to look at her. "Is this the time when you make a dramatic pause and then say to me that if I became your slave you're gonna treat me like a princess and we're gonna live happily ever after?"

"That part, actually, you will never hear from me." Quinn raised her eyebrow. She was becoming a little bit more herself very moment she spent with Rachel. "I know you too well Quinn, and if I ever treated you like a princess you would take over in a matter of seconds; I have no intention of allowing that. No way." Rachel moved a little closer to her, almost touching her arm but not quite doing it. "But I will tell you one thing, though: if you became mine I would treat you like the person I love." Rachel leaned on, kissing her, and then letting her forehead rest on Quinn's.

"Rachel..." Quinn didn't really know how to finish the sentence.

"It's ok, we still have time. You don't have to say anything right now." She took Quinn's hand and kissed it lightly. "What about a movie? Are you up for it?"

"A movie?"

"Yep. Ice cream and a movie, a perfect couple. What do you say?"

"It's... ok, I guess."

Rachel smiled to her as she turned on the TV. Quinn sat, tensed, on the couch. Images of some old black and white movie flashed on the screen and every now and then Rachel commented about what was happening.

"Classic," she smiled, or, "Cecil DeMille as a guest star, can you believe it? This movie is just amazing," she said pointing at a bald man on appearing on the screen. Quinn couldn't concentrate on the movie, she was too aware of the normality of the evening, and normal, to her, meant extremely weird.

Was she really watching a movie on a couch? Were her legs stiffly still as if a simple movement could break them? Was Rachel Berry's head on her lap?

 

* * *

 

_"Come on Quinn, you have to see this!"_

_"If it's black and white I'm not gonna watch it Rach!"_

_"You can't call it a black and white movie, this is Sunset Boulevard!"_

_"My objection remains."_

_"Fine!" Rachel Berry sighed, shaking her head."We'll watch one of your stupid horror movies."_

_"They're not stupid, they're funny. It's different!"_

_"Whatever! If I can''t sleep tonight..."_

_"You can leave out the "if" part, Rach. You won't be able to sleep tonight, but I'll promise it won't be because of the film." Quinn smirked._

_"Very cocky of you, Miss Fabray. I resent the implication of your sentence. Do you presume I will... Hey!"_

_Quinn grabbed her girlfriend's waist pulling her closer._

_"Yes, I do presume, Miss Berry."_

_Rachel closed her eyes, lips parted and ready for a kiss that never came. Quinn smiled and pulled away, sitting on the bed and patting the space next to her._

_"You're a teaser."_

_"And you like it that way. Come on, Rach, the movie is starting."_

_Rachel climbed on the bed, lying with her head on Quinn's lap. As the first sequences of the movie showed a young couple being slaughtered by some sort of deformed humanoid form._

_"If I have nightmares..."_

_Quinn soothingly stroked her fingers through Rachel's hair. "You won't."_

_  
_

* * *

 

For God's sake, she had brought that woman to orgasm with her own mouth, but that was when she didn't know who it was. Now it was different; now every touch was painfully conscious and it meant something. At the beginning of the movie Rachel was sitting next to her but as the movie went on she skipped over so naturally that Quinn barely noticed it. That is until she lay down, resting her head on Quinn's lap.

Quinn tensed but Rachel didn't notice, or else faked it very well. She kept on looking at the television like this was all normal, like that was how it was supposed to be. And maybe it was. That contact felt so natural to Quinn that, even if her mind screamed at her to stay on guard, to keep her walls up, to be defensive because she was a fucking dominant who was trying to claim her, she couldn't help it. And, as memories came back, her body started to react on its own.

She placed a hand on Rachel's hair, brushing it lightly.

 

* * *

 

_"I like your hair."_

_"Mmm?"_

_"I said I like your hair. It's... beautiful."_

_"Thanks, I guess."_

_Rachel smiled. "Does it really feel so awkward to receive compliments that you don't know how to react to them?"_

_"People compliment me all the time, Rach, I'm Quinn Fabray."_

_"And yet my compliments make you blush," she smiled teasingly._

_They were lying on Quinn's bed; it was late afternoon. It had been three months since their first kiss and, although Quinn didn't say it out loud Rachel thought that them going out for lunch together and the sweet and slow love-making after that, was a way to celebrate the event._

_"I do not blush." Quinn turned around._

_They were both lying on their side, now, facing each other._

_"Your cheeks are red, Miss Fabray. That's called blushing. But it's ok, it's cute."_

_"And I'm not cute," Quinn pointed out. "I might be stunning, breathtaking, gorgeous... but not cute."_

_"Why is it a problem Quinn? Why don't you let anyone see who you are? Your weaknesses and soft spots make you such a wonderful person and..." Quinn moved away, sighing. "What now?"_

_"You don't get where I am by being soft or... cute."_

_"That's sad, Quinn."_

_"No, that's reality. You should know it too. You freak out when people try to make you do stuff you don't want to. You fight and even punch if it comes to that. You're not cute, Rachel, when they try to take something you want."_

_"But I never hide who I am," the brunette objected._

_"I'm not hiding, I'm just... protecting something that it would be torn apart if people knew about its existence."_

_Rachel moved closer to her, pressing her body against Quinn, chin over her shoulder. "You don't need to protect anything from me, you know that, don't you?"_

_"Rach..."_

_"I wanna be your safe place, Quinn. Don't pretend, don't act, just be yourself. I won't steal anything from you, I won't break anything and I won't hurt you. I promise."_

_Quinn breathed deeply. She had already let Rachel in more than everybody else, and it scared her how quickly the other girl could understand her deepest thoughts and her moods. What would happen if she let her in more?_

_"And if you don't like what you will see?"_

_"There is simply no way in the world for me not to like you, Quinn Fabray." Rachel leaned over, kissing her gently on the lips._

_  
_

* * *

 

As Norma Desmond went down the stairs, and "The end" writing appeared on the screen, Rachel got up and turned around to smile at her.

"What did you think?" she asked.

"About what?"

"The movie, silly!"

"I... I'm sorry, Rach, I wasn't really watching."

Rachel tried to hide her smile. Did she really called her Rach? That was a good sign. "It doesn't matter." She took her hand. "I just..."

"You just what?"

Rachel's jaw froze while she thought what to say. This was a once in a lifetime occurence, that Rachel Berry didn't know what to say, Quinn thought smiling to herself, but then she realized that the woman must be feeling the weight of something heavy on her soul.

"Just what?" She repeated more gently.

"If I tell you a story, a very long story, would you listen?"


	11. Rachel Berry's story

When you are Rachel Berry life isn't easy.

As soon as you are born you're taken away from your mother. They say to you there isn't a mother, that the state will give you whatever you will need: education, affection, a shelter. You will be placed in a home with all the other children and you will grown up independent, strong, fulfilling your true personality without any external influence.

You spend the first years of your life screaming and yelling among other children, trying to emerge, but there are so many kids around you, and they all seem to cry harder and higher then you. And then you start school. School is good, you think, because you know you're smart and you think you can finally be noticed. But the other kids are smart too, educated, they learn faster than you and the teacher congratulate them, or they're way slower than you, and they stop after school to help them. But you, you no, you're an average student. You don't excel, you don't suck, you're so normal they keep forgetting your name. You're a shadow, a B grade on a paper. B plus when you try your best. You're the kid with brown hair sitting on the third row. You're a hair color, nothing more.

But you don't want to be. You're just a kid and yet you know that you want the others to know your name. You try everything to emerge: you're the good girl, than the bad girl, than the needy girl, then the mysterious one. Nothing seems to work, you're not enough. That's when you start to dream to be someone. You started to wish people to know you, and you swear to yourself that, no matter what, one day you'll be famous.

And the times goes by. You have a dream but you don't really know how to reach your goal. You try sports and you suck; you try to work your ass off and improve your grades, but you can't; you try to be the funny one but you don't have it in you. And then, when you fail another time, people start to tell you you're a drama queen and, really, they meant it in a bad way, but something inside you clicks and you got it: you're gonna be an actress, no, a goddess. You will strike people with your talent, you will give them feelings, you will make stories real for them, you will make them feel like they were in it and not just watching. And you start taking classes. People don't give you much credit, you've tried so many things before they think this is going to be another of your failure, but you don't want to fail again, you can't and you won't.

It's not easy, when you think you got something it seems like it slips through your fingers, but this time you're determined to hold on, despite everything. It's your dream and you won't anybody ruin it for you. People try to tear you down, they don't trust you, you've been a living failure for fourteen years and things are not going to change now, they say, but you fight back, you get angry at them, you change under their scrutinizing eyes. For the first time you see people look at you with some respect because you're defending what is yours, they realize they don't want to mess with Rachel Berry when it comes to her dream. With everything else, maybe, but not about her dream.

And then it's high school time and, really, it's a blank slate, the chance to start over, you think. Wrong. You can't really change who you are and although you try to control who you are becoming nature seems to do its curse: you are an uncertain, it's pretty clear by now, your dominant and submissive side are balanced and you end up being an outcast once again because of it. But you don't really care, it's ok, you think: dominants and submissive have to work under the pressure of expectations, you're free to be who you are and you like that freedom, you like the chance to focus just on your dream.

But then you met her. In the hallway. She's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, she's shining and she has a blue aura around her that pulses with power and confidence. She doesn't even know you're exist and it's probably better that way because every time she passes you by your stomach drops down on the floor and you're left with a hole in your body so real that you have to press your hands on your abs to verify everything is still in their right physical place. She makes you feel so good, and weird at the same time. Your eyes are drawn to her, your thoughts are drown to her, your all body is drown to her and you start changing your routine just to meet her a couple of more times in the hallways. You can't help but stare at her, time after time until, one day, she stares back. She has this puzzled look on her face while she notice you, like you're a character from a fairy tale just popped into reality. You see her frown and you run away, scared that you just ruined everything with your creepy stalker attitude.

But then she comes talk to you. She leans on the lockers on your left, like you're two good friends catching up before class.

"Berry right? I believe we have chem together?"

Oh God her voice is so beautiful when she speaks at you, low, rusty, sexy. Does she knows how sexy her voice is? Probably. Yes. Definitely. She smirks at you like she could read your mind and you look away, embarrassed of your unspoken thoughts. She raises an eyebrow, still waiting for your answer and you realize she did ask you something but you couldn't remember it if your life depended on it. And then you blush because you realize you're making a fool of yourself and you wish you could just disappear, you wish the earth could open beneath your feet and just swallow you away, you pray for some mystical force to turn back time so you can act properly, all cool and careless, like she didn't melt your guts with that single cocky look of hers. But she smiles. She finds amusing your embarrassment, and she throws a rope to you.

"Did you get notes in the last class? I was kind of distracted."

And that's ok cause your good at chem. God knows why but you're actually good at it, and it makes sense that she's talking to you because of that, right? Because she is fine, but not amazing at chem, and she could use some help, and you could give her some help, and maybe if you could just stop staring at her silently, now, and say something it would be a wise choice.

"Yes, of course."

"Can I borrow them? I just need to catch up."

"Sure they're..." You reach in your locker hurriedly searching through your stuff. Where the hell are the chem notes? Where did you hid them? For God's sake, not now, you're such a tidy and neat person, why aren't they where they're supposed to be? "...mmm, I think I have them in here..."

"It's ok, you can give them to me later. Look for me when you find them, ok?"

She leaves you as you mutter an uncertain "Ok" yourself, watching her perfect ass walk away in the hallway, cursing yourself because, come on, could you look more stupid than you did? No, of course not! You sigh, turn around to close your locker, and there they are, the notes in your curvy writings, on yellowish papers, just under your nose. Fuck!

When you finally find the courage to walk to her to handle her your notes you find out chem is really just an excuse. She doesn't care about chem's notes, probably she could have the teacher do her homework for her if she wanted to, but she plays the act. She asks you to come to her room to study together, you answer something but you don't know what: you're brain blacked out after the words "my room". Again she laughs at you, but she's not cruel, just amused by the shock on your face. "Like nobody ever invited you to her room, Berry!" And, indeed, nobody invited you. Well, just a few selected friends. Very few. Very selected. And certainly nobody like Quinn Febrary.

When you go to her room you find it a complete mess. There are so many things hanging around, on the walls and thrown on the floor. Her room speaks of her, so many pictures, so many friends, so many awards, for school, for sport, for whoever knows what. And yet something is off. There is too much of too many things, and you have the feeling someone could get lost in there. Maybe someone did.

You sit at her desk and start studyng but after a short while the door burst open and Santana's storms in.

"Q..." She stops when she sees you and stares puzzled. "What is she doing here?"

"Chem? With me?" Quinn answers.

"What the fuck Q?" Santana ignores you like you're not even there "With this dwarf? Please, I can find you someone to do your homework! Come on, let's go to the mall, I've heard the first grades are running wildly like the own the place. I wanna scare them off."

"See you later San!" Quinn doesn't raise her voice, she doesn't even raise her head from the book as a matter of fact, and Santana snorts walking out.

"Suit yourself."

Quinn waits a few seconds before looking at you. "Just ignore her, she's not mean... well, she is mean, but... just ignore her, ok?"

You nod. Santana always scared the hell out of you and for good reasons. She expressed her own opinion on everything and everyone, and she expected things to turn out her way; if it doesn't, she could get very physical about it.

But as times goes by you find out that Quinn is right, Santana is mean... but she isn't really mean, if that makes any sense. You have the chance to know her a little better because your chem study session continues longer than you expected. For almost a month, now, and between the studying you and Quinn started to develop some sort of friendship. It's not so obvious on the outside where you're just kindly polite to each other, but inside Quinn's room things are easier.

She's not a talk girl, you get this pretty soon, but you fill in the silence with your constant blabbering about everything and she doesn't seem to care. She's very private, she doesn't let you in much, and yet you have the feeling there is so much more beneath the surface and sometimes, when you look at her in the eyes, just before she turns away abruptly, you almost see it. Like a shadow, something passing through her eyes. You don't know what it is, but you know it's there.

Spending time with her it's the best part of your day, sometimes you find an excuse just to pass by her room, saying you think you have forgotten something in there. It's pretty clear you have not but she plays the act with you, until one day you knock at her door to ask her if your red pen there but your red pen is really pinned to your book. She drags you in her room, slamming the door behind, and she kisses you.

It's your first real kiss. And it feels like the whole universe it's exploding.

You're still smiling when she shows you out of her room, but as you take the first step you realize that something is wrong: you're not supposed to be showed off after your first kiss, right? Did you do something wrong? Oh God, sure you did. You're a terrible kisser, you will be damned for all your love life. Should you come back to her to apologize? How do you apologize for being a bad kisser? Oh God, oh God, oh God! You fucked it all up!

The day after she walks to you in the hallway. She asks if the two of you could meet in the backyard in five minutes and you nod. She's deadly serious and you start wondering what is going to be? Public humiliation? Is she just gonna mock you? Laugh at you? She does nothing of that. When she sees you she pins you at the wall and kisses you again. There's a sort of hunger, this time, she's demanding, pressing, angry. You try to push her away but she's stronger so you moan into her mouth and she finally backs off.

She stares at you, blankly, like nobody is in there driving her actions, there's such an empty hole in her eyes and then the shadow, again. In a sudden realization you understand what is that shadow you've always saw in her eyes: she's scared. Quinn Fabray is scared and you don't know by what, or why. You try to cup her face and calm her down but she moves away like you hurt her.

"This is going to be on my terms,do you understand Berry?" Her voice tries to stay strong and firm but you can read that her tone it's just an act. "Do you understand me?" She repeats, louder.

You nod. Something's off with her, and you're worried, God, you're even scared, but not for you: for her, so you let her go. On her terms, ok, she needs time, and you're willing to give it to her.

In the next days you meet at school: empty classes, on the backyard, anywhere but her room, she doesn't want you there yet but, again, it's ok. You let her call the shots because that's her way to handle... whatever is that the two of you got. You're fine, you're happy, you know you can dig past her walls, and every time you see a glimpse of what she hides behind you fall a little more for her.

You make love.

She's your first, and it's not how you expected. She's much more rough than you hoped for, she doesn't seem to care, and you're one step away from calling it all off, from running away, afraid she will hurt you sooner or later, when you see that look on her face. She's so lost it hurts you. the fear is always there, bigger, deepest than ever. You took her face and pull her down on your lips. She's surprised: it's the first time you take the initiative, she tries to move back but you hold her. Your kiss is light, sweet, tender. You part her lips and look for her tongue. You can feel her melt, slowly, tension leaving her body. She relaxes and you let her go. When you open your eyes she's on the verge of tears and you know you're about to loose her: she would never allow you to see her cry, to see her so weak, so you close your eyes and kiss her once again.

She's different after that. She knows you know, and she knows you respect her enough to give her space and time. She slowly lets you in, she talks more, laugh and jokes with you. But then it all changes again. She starts seeing Sam. It comes out of nowhere, really, but you suspect it's because she's loosing power in school. You're not good publicity when it comes to keeping up reputation, and although neither of you is bragging around this thing you have, still it got public somehow. Maybe it was Santana, maybe it just happened, who knows. Some part of you says you should have expected this, she is Quinn Fabray, after all, you weren't really thinking she could be yours and just yours forever, right? It all comes to that in the end. People always told you weren't enough and it turns out they were right: you're not enough for her, time to face the truth, Rach. But despite your over thinking and endless analysis, she doesn't break up with you, she simply dates you and Sam at the same time, although you're the mistress, she hides you and pays extra attention not to be seen with you anymore.

You think you could handle this because you're addicted to her just as much as she's addicted to you, but you can't. The thought of Sam's hands on her body drives you crazy, and seeing them kissing in the hallway makes your blood boil. You try to talk to her, to give her an ultimatum, but she calls your bluff and you're left with nothing. She's out of your life.

You try to reach her but every time you try to talk to her she shoots you with an angry glare you can't stand. She pushes you away, But not just you, everybody. her friends step away and she even have a fight with Santana in the hallway. Then you heard: she's pregnant.

It all breaks down. She's taken to confinement, you try to go talk to her, you know her too well now, and you have a pretty clear idea of what is going through her mind, but she keeps pushing you away. You collect your courage and go to Santana, but she can't do nothing but shrug and say it's Quinn decision. You know she doesn't agree, just like you don't agree, but she's right: you can't make Quinn Fabray do something she doesn't want to do.

And yet you insist, for all the five months she's in confinement, and after that, when she briefly returns to school, but she's made up her mind, she walks on her own now, and the only two people who stand by her side are Santana and Brittany. You're not allowed in.

When the sorting comes it all goes as predicted: Quinn is sorted as a slave. She's meant to be a public warning for kids who broke the law. And your sorting goes as predicted too, because you were right, from the beginning: being an uncertain is not an handicap, quite the opposite, it gives you the choice to be who you want to be, and from the moment you realized Quinn was going to be a slave you decided you had to be a dominant. You don't want to miss any chance even if you don't know what the future holds in for you, for the both of you. Maybe it's just a teenage love or, maybe, she's your soul mate. Probably the last one. You feel it in your guts and you know you won't give up, you will give your love every chance you can.

She gets sent to camp to learn how to serve. It's supposed to be for six months, one year top, but she stays in twice the time. You hear stories, she's being difficult, she ends up in solitary a lot, she gets punished and you know it's all because of her damn pride. You can think about at least a couple of things she must have sworn to herself, like, probably, she told herself she will never bend, no matter how hard they try to make her, she will never submit. Stupid, stupid, Quinn, they're gonna break her before you can reach her. You would love to see her but law says you have to be parted for two years after the sorting. It's a training period, for dominant and submissives alike, to understand their role and to understand that, despite previous feelings, they now have a place and some duties one towards the other. Many friendship, many relationship, don't last such a prolonged distance but you know you can, and you know Santana, Brittany and Quinn's relationship can too. You're sure Santana has found some means to keep contact with both Britt and Quinn, you know it for sure, she probably even got herself some conjugal visits with Britt, of course she does, but you don't have what she has, her courage, her attitude, her strength, and all you know about Quinn is what slips away on the streets: pieces of information that don't really paint a great picture of her. She's marked as a trouble maker and when she finally got out camp she ends up doing shitty jobs.

In the mean time, waiting for her, you have your own career. It turns out you're not worthless, you're actually pretty good in what you do, so good, in fact, that door after door opens up for you. Money, fame, it all comes to you, just as you wished when you were a kid, but you're not happy, you miss the only thing that could give you happiness and you want her more than anything else. You travel the world, and while you're away Quinn disappears from your radar.

It takes you months, when you come back home, to gather new information. Central direction tried to send Quinn back to school. Despite the fact that she's being so difficult everybody knew she got quite the brain and could succeed in everything she wanted, but she fucked it all up again. She defied the teachers, refused to bent, broke the law, again. She was sent to the camp, another time. You know Santana had to ask and do a lot of favors to get her out and that she became her emergency call. It's a full time job.

Central Direction tries to keep a low profile for Quinn Fabray: she's a tough one to handle, she keeps on messing things around and it's not good publicity for the system. They send her to a pony express company and when you heard of her again she seems to be happy, maybe happier than she'd ever been in the last years, so you freak out.

You start to over think. You know that if you enter in her life again you would mess with her head, it's not just your ego, or maybe it is, but you have this feeling that now that Quinn has found some sort of balance you shouldn't really walk back to her life and risk messing her around. Maybe that's what was supposed to be, right? Maybe you were just teenagers sweethearts, maybe it was not meant to be more.

You have lovers now, sometimes you have relationship just for the magazine's sake. You have quite a few of them; it's the business, they say to you, and you're fine with it because you don't really have someone special in your life.

Then you met her, Juliet. She's nice, and smart, and her natural red hair intrigue you. You ask her to be your sub, she agrees and soon after that she starts working as your assistant and moves into your house. She knows her place, she serves you and, more importantly, she likes you. Neither of you is a foolish, you both know that what you have is not love, still it's a good arrangement that works fine. For years.

In the meantime Quinn gets a name for herself, and not a good one. Juliet, who is more a friend, now, than a sub or a lover, sees the way you react when you heard of the Untamed Painslut. She knows your past and she's the one to suggest you try to contact her again, but you refuse, telling it's been too long now. Maybe you're right. You're not the girl Quinn used to know, and she's not either. It's been years, too many years, probably.

But you keep hearing stories about Quinn. She's become sort of a legend by now, claimers are piling up for her but nobody seems to be able to claim her. When you heard a friend of yours, in the costume department, has a claim with her you ask to see the session, and he agrees to let you watch it though the cameras, with the Central Direction Officer. You don't know why you do it, you just need to.

And as the camera shows you her figure it all comes back to you. You see him touching her skin and you know exactly how it feels. She hangs from the ceiling as the whip hit her, reddening her back, she seems to handle it, the legend is true after all, as it's true her defiant attitude and the witty remarks she shots at the dominant. You smirk, this is so Quinn of her, she hasn't changed a bit. She's still that stubborn, proud, gorgeous, woman that made you fall in love.

When you come back home you file for your claim.

Juliet looks at you while you send the request. You would like to tell her something but she knows you and doesn't need to hear it. She gets closer and kisses you. She's a nice person, she doesn't deserve what you're giving to her, which is nothing.

You take her hand and you tell her that after the claim, no matter what will be the response, you will release her. It's not fair to keep her bound to you when it's clear that you don't love each other. You know who you love, and Juliet deserves the chance to know it too.

You have to wait months for your turn. Even with your money, even with your name, there are so many who want to test her, and themselves, with the infamous Quinn Fabray. You assist at some of those claims. Some of those guys are just nut jobs that make your blood boil looking at the way they treat Quinn, some are wannabees with no experience; but it doesn't matter who they are, or who they think they are, they all make the same mistake: they try to break her walls hitting them with full force when, really, nobody can break those walls if not Quinn herself. You know it, you experienced it before, years ago. And you know also another thing, that if she'll ever finds out that you're the one who wants to claim her she will raise her walls so high you will never, ever, be able to go past them. Like when she was crying, after your first time, like when she gave up your relationship to save you from the wrong choiche, Quinn won't allow you to see her weak, and she will never let you save her. So you're left but with one choiche, you have to play it right, and so you go with anonymity.

And then it comes the day. Juliet brings her in and makes her kneel on your floor. She's so damn beautiful that, for a moment, you forgot to breathe. You look at that gorgeous body and you almost feel like your touching it, your fingers remember the times when that body was their play yard and they spent their better days exploring and touching every inch of it. You want nothing more than go to her and make love but you know it's not the time. Your hands are shaking and you're so damn agitated that your first touch would betray you. No, you have to do it right, so you take enough time to calm down and get a grip on your emotions. It's hard, and it takes an awful lot of time, but in the end you make it. You finally get closer to her and you feel her tense. She's listening, she's judging, she's thinking, trying to understand what you want from her. So Quinn of her. You kiss her shoulders and neck, you lightly trace a path on her skin, around the scar on her feet, her knee. She's not wearing the brace. Figures, careless as always Quinn Fabray, you would never show a weakness to a dominant, right? You lock a collar around her neck and you bring her to one bedroom. You know she expect pain from you so you will give her pleasure; enough to drive her crazy, but never letting her come. It's your way of teaching her you are in control. Always. It's the first step of many you will take with her. She gets frustrated really soon but you're having a good time. Every minute you spent with her brings back more and more memories: you remember all her weak spots and you find some new ones.

It's a good day.

The second time you ask for the claim you decide to take things a step further. You make her lick and caress your body, slowly, almost hoping she will recognize you and it will bring memories back for her too, but she's distant, reluctant. You feel almost like the first claim is gone wasted and you need to start over again. You try with kindness again and it work. As you feed her, as you let her rest at your feet, she seems to lower her defenses. But it doesn't last. You make Juliet bring her to her room but she doesn't stay put and you see her walk out her room from the cameras you have in all the rooms for the claim.

Every slave knows that you're not supposed to leave your quarters once you're placed in them but she does it anyway. You frown. So that's the time. You knew it would have come eventually, the moment when she would defy you and you know you have act accordingly: her actions have to have consequences. You need to learn her respect and, unfortunately, she's not in the position to give it to you. She's used to play dominants for fools and you have to let her know it's not going to work with you, you're not like the others, you know her game, you can read through her and she can't hide wherever she escapes during her claiming.

So you punish her. You know her limits better then she does, and you know she can handle it, but as the times goes by and she doesn't respond as you thought she would, you're starting to doubt. Maybe you're asking too much of her, maybe you pretending her to know what you want without never voicing it it's just crazy, maybe YOU are crazy and you're crossing the line maybe... then she yells you to stop. She's admits her wrongs, she says she's sorry and you believe her. It's in her voice, it's true.

You sigh in relief throwing her a towel. You would like to hold her and give her time to recover but you know you can't: it's the moment of truth, now or never, as they say.

You ask Juliet to give her a message. She looks at you with concern. She sees how much this claim is draining out of you, she cups your face and kiss you on the cheek before living to explain Quinn what you want. Damn. You didn't expect it to be so hard on you. It's a constant battle between what you would like to do and what Quinn needs you to do, to trust that you're the coherent, solid, challenging person who can keep up with her. Damn. Again. You need to breathe, calm down. You're nervous because you're about to win her over or screw it all up. You're giving Quinn the power to choose, to follow your orders willingly or to defy you in the most obvious way. You're afraid it's too soon in your "training" with her, or too late, in her life, at all, but there's really nothing you can do at this point.

You walk back in. She has her eyes closed and she keeps them closed throughout the caning and while you take off the clamps. It's more than she's ever given to any other dominant she met, and it's a huge step forward. Now you're halfway through it, there's just another big moment ahead of you, and that's when you will reveal her your identity. But that's in the future, for now you just want to comfort Quinn, let her know you're glad she kept her word.

You kiss her and you're surprised when she kisses you back. You weren't expecting this, not yet, but it's a good thing. She's letting her guard down. Quinn probably doesn't know it yet, but her body has already recognized you. It warms you and it scares you at the same time, because the more she gives you the more you have to loose if you fail in the end.

And that's when things change. She's not the problem, you are. You begin to loose control, your head gets dizzy because of her kisses and the closeness of her body. You know you're supposed to be in charge but you've lost lucidity and you can't think straight. You have to stop. You kiss her one last time and then you leave.


	12. Just say the word

They never really talked, not when they were teenagers, and certainly not during their claim together. It was the up and down of their relationship. They seemed to understand each other better when they interpreted body language or when they felt each other's mood like they were their own. But it didn't always work and, since this time could be their last time, Rachel didn't want to risk anything. That was the reason she told Quinn her whole story: from the beginning, from her childhood, to the first time she realized she was in love with her, through the bad and the good times, all the life they spent together.

Rachel knew she hurt Quinn telling her all those things, she knew that the other woman felt guilty more than ever but that wasn't really the point of it, just an unfortunate side effect. She just needed Quinn to know that in hindsight it didn't change things. She had been a teenager crazy in love, who would have done almost anything for her, and to the present day, she never regretted it or thought it had been wrong. Quinn tried to protect her, back in the day, but she needed no protection. Not then, not now. It was time for Quinn to undress her shiny armor and just be herself, like Rachel told her so many years ago.

"Don't pretend, don't act, just be yourself."

She took Quinn's hand. "Come."

They walked up the stairs leading her to the bedroom. As soon as she saw it, Quinn's body tensed, but Rachel moved her arm across Quinn's waist and, pulling her a little closer, she whispered into her ear.

"If you want I will stop. Immediately." She tugged some loose hair behind Quinn's ear and then walked into the room.

Quinn could see the difference in her body language. If a moment ago Rachel was her Rachel, the grown up version of the girl she fell in love with, now she was someone else, she was the dominant who drove her crazy with desire during their first claim, the one who punished her harshly for her lack of respect when she left her room without permission.

She extended a hand inviting Quinn in the room and when the blonde took it she stepped closer. She slowly raised Quinn's hands above her head and lifted up the gray sweater taking it off, letting it fall on the floor. She lowered her arms stroking them and pulling closer at the same time.

"You are beautiful Quinn." Rachel whispered as she lay the first of many kisses on her naked skin, her exposed neck and collarbone. Quinn's head bent backwards as Rachel moved along, fighting the urge to grab her and pull her closer. She sure learned a lot of things since she had been a clumsy teenager girl and some part of Quinn wanted to show her the things that she, herself, learned in their period apart. But as much as she liked to think that ten years as a slave didn't influence her, they did. They trained her to obey, to respond to orders, and she trained herself to defy orders, to make fools of them. In that moment, though, there were no orders to follow or defy, and her body was clueless in trying to remember how she was supposed to act.

Rachel kneeled and slid down Quinn's loose pants, then she took the other woman's hand making her step out of them. Quinn was standing completely naked in front of Rachel who couldn't help but lick her lips in anticipation.

It was their first time after so many years and it had to be done right: as much as Rachel wanted nothing more than just grab her and fuck her till they were both senseless, she knew that it had to be about Quinn: she would be the one in control, even if Rachel's job was not to let her know that.

"Lay down Quinn." She pointed at the bed, her voice soft but demanding. No objections were going to be tolerated and Quinn complied crawling to the bed, somehow happy to be again in a known territory; the one with order to follow or challenge. "Face up." The blonde turned around and saw Rachel follow her on the bed and come sit on her stomach. "I won't tie you but I expect you to behave."

Quinn didn't answer. She was confused, to say the least. She couldn't put things in the right order, she couldn't analyze it and that was exactly what Rachel wanted: she wanted Quinn to react with her body and guts more than with her mind, she wanted her to trust her feelings and instincts more than the fears that lived in her head.

Lying on her back wasn't comfortable, for Quinn, but it wasn't painful either. The cream Rachel put on her the previous day and the pill she took just after dinner helped her a lot, and then, of course, there was the kissing, the light brushing of Rachel's lips all over her naked body, that turned her skin on fire making her forget everything else.

Rachel pecked at her lip once, her brown hair falling down covering them both from invisible, non-existent eyes. It gave Quinn a weird feeling of privacy.

When Rachel moved back to lock gaze with Quinn she saw an uncertain look in her eyes. The blonde didn't know what to expect and that was a good thing: Rachel started to talk alternating words with soft kisses.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Quinn, you're stunning, and stubborn, and smart, and amazing, and..." she kissed Quinn's neck making her moan involuntary "...provocative, thoughtful, sensitive..." her hands moved down her chest, brushing lightly Quinn's nipples "...gorgeous, playful, funny, creative..." her mouth followed her hands and her tongue circled Quinn's nipple "...stupid, courageous, inspiring, scary, deep..." a hand fondled her right breast, while her voice dropped down, lower than before "...fragile, sassy, curious..." her tongue traced a wet line traced towards the other nipple "...strong, talented..."

"Rachel!" Quinn called out in a whisper, eyes closed.

The brunette stopped, waiting for the other woman to open her eyes, but Quinn didn't. Instead she pushed her fists into Rachel's shoulders moving her away. Rachel let her do it. She stood for a while, Quinn's breathing was shallow and irregular.

"Quinn, look at me." The woman didn't move. Rachel grabbed her hand holding it until the fist loosened up and she was able to hold her hand. She kissed her bruised wrist. "Look at me, baby." She repeated,

Quinn opened her eyes. Rachel was on top of her, those deep brown eyes on hers, a world she could lose herself in. There was so much in those eyes: there were her dreams and hopes, her past and maybe her future. Rachel slowly leaned over closing the distance between them, but she didn't touch her, instead she stopped a few inches away, waiting.

It was Quinn's choice, then and always.

The blonde moved toward her and stopped, fighting a battle with herself, Rachel's scent impregnating the air. She tried again and again stopped, a breath away from those soft lips. Rachel was still immobile. Rachel's breath on her skin, hot and regular, those brown eyes locked onto hers. She raised a hand to touch Rachel's side and as soon as her hand touched the other woman, something clicked inside her: the curve or her hips, her back, her ass... Quinn threw herself forward, like she was jumping over a cliff, fast, with closed eyes. Their lips collided and it was hungry and desperate. Quinn clung to Rachel, with something between wild passion and angry regret, and she pulled the other woman to her, moving her hands up her back, but Quinn's impetus broke on Rachel's sweetness. The other woman didn't stop her but didn't respond to her passion either. She knew Quinn had to let it out before anything else could take the place of her anger and regret, and every time Quinn kissed her hungrily she met her with a slow and delicate kiss in return, and every time the blonde tried to speed things up Rachel slowed them down. Rachel wanted things to be slow, so the feelings could really sink into Quinn, and their first time, after almost ten years, could be something remarkable and not just some quickie out of memories, passion and regret.

When finally Quinn let it all out and abandoned herself to the slow pace the other woman set, Rachel stepped back looking at her: Quinn was so lost and hurt. For too many years she let the pain take over, she thought her life was over and there was nothing left for her but the pride of being herself till the very end. It was a mistake, the world had still a lot to offer to her. The world could still offer her Rachel Berry.

Quinn frowned. Rachel could see that, despite her passion and excitement, she was still fighting. She didn't think it was true, or maybe she didn't think she deserve anything more than she always got from dominants, and it was Rachel's job to convince her otherwise. She sat up and unbuttoned her shirt. At every loose button exposing more of Rachel's skin, Quinn's breathing quickened. She rose up on her elbows to get closer but Rachel pressed just a finger to her shoulder pushing her back down.

She opened the upper button, exposing the curve of her breast, then the last one, shoving her navel; then again the button on top, making it obvious she was not wearing a bra; then the bottom one, giving Quinn a glimpse of her perfect abs. There was just one button left. She took Quinn's hands, inviting her to open it.

Quinn licked her lips, following the silent order, she unbuttoned her shirt then helped her take it off. Rachel stood for a moment, letting Quinn stare at her with a lustful glare she couldn't hide, and then bent to kiss her again. It was the first time their naked skin made contact and it felt weird. Rachel's cold skin against her hot one made her moan.

Rachel lowered herself even more, fingertips on Quinn's side moving lightly, like she was playing a harp over her body. Quinn arched forward pressing even more into Rachel as her hands clasped Rachel's hips, closing her eyes.

She was in her teenager room, they were making love like always, it was all a dream, Santana would enter through her door soon, yelling something about Britt being too touchy even for her, and she would get up embarrassed, trying to cover herself with the sheets, while Santana would say not to be embarrassed cause she has beautiful tits but you, dwarf, you should think about getting a boob job.

Yes, it was a dream, a memory too vivid in her mind, nothing more, she wasn't with Rachel, the only person she ever loved, she wasn't making love to her, she would wake up in some black room, tied, too hurt to even think to move, wishing she could just go on dreaming for the rest of her life. Or death. It was too much, she needed to escape. Her safe place. Flowers singing. Nothing could hurt her.

"Quinn, stay with me." Rachel called her back, worried she was slipping away.

"I can't." She murmured. "This is..." unreal, scary, terrifying, too good to be true, undeserved... there were many things she could say to end that sentence, instead she left it hanging on the edge of unspoken feelings.

"Don't do this, please, Quinn." It was the first time she heard a dominant pronounce those words to her "Please, you knew it all along, you knew it was me, from the beginning, you recognized my body, my touch, as I would recognize yours among millions of others. You didn't resist back then, don't do it now."

"Rach..." The voice trailed off, her eyes getting watery.

"Why are you so scared to be happy?" Rachel asked in a whisper to her ear.

"It never lasts." she murmured back, almost talking to herself.

Rachel sighed "Happiness is not something you're given, Quinn." she slid down kissing Quinn's right breast "It's something you take for yourself."

Rachel's tongue flickered over her sensitive nipple making Quinn groan as her hand moved down between the blonde's legs. She could feel her wetness but she teasingly moved just over her, tracing her way around her entrance, near her clit but never touching it. She heard Quinn calling her name in a whisper but she couldn't tell if she was begging to stop or go further. Probably not even Quinn could tell. But her body did know what it wanted, as it began rocking looking for Rachel's touch. Responding to her request the brunette easily slip two fingers inside Quinn and she arched forward panting harder.

Rachel slowly built the rythm from there, fingers going in and out so teasingly it almost drove Quinn crazy with need and desire.

"Please." she moaned, but Rachel didn't seem to notice, her mouth busy on her breast and down, on her side, her hip, moving slowly close to Quinn's center. She felt the blonde getting closer and closer and she moved back to kiss her as her fingers slipped out and brushed against her clit in circular motions.

"Fuck!" Quinn was on edge now, but Rachel wasn't ready to let her come yet. She trapped the other woman in a long kiss and felt Quinn's finger dig into her back, scratching her skin. That was her cue. She inserted again the fingers hooking them to touch her G spot, and as Quinn's clenched around her and her muscle tensed in a powerful orgasm, she said into her ear what she held back for so many years.

"I love you!"

* * *

 

Quinn has never felt like that. Coming down to earth she started crying silently. She couldn't open her eyes, she just couldn't force herself to look at Rachel in that moment because if she did the brunette would have seen right through her, all her fears, and needs, and scars. But Rachel already saw that.

She kissed every single tear away, while gently moving her fingers through the blond hair, soothing her, and when finally Quinn's sobs quieted enough, she rolled over to the side, taking the blonde in her arms.

Quinn's head naturally rested on Rachel's shoulder. They stayed like that for a while, Quinn's head dizzy with thoughts and feelings she never faced before. She had lived as a slave for almost ten years now and never, ever, she though she could submit to someone; she was a free woman misplaced on the wrong group; she was a stubborn girl who made up her own mind; she was Quinn fucking Fabray and nobody could tame her. Except that now Quinn fucking Fabray wanted nothing more than to lose herself in Rachel and tell to her the words that were trapped deep inside her for so long. She wanted to tell her she loved her back but couldn't find the strength to voice her desire. Instead what came out of her mouth was a soft whisper.

"I'm the only thing I've left, and you're asking me to give it up."

"I'm asking you to trust your instincts when they tell you I feel the same way you do."

"You don't know me, you have no idea how I turned out to be."

"I think I know you better than you know yourself. I always did and I always will."

She took Quinn's chin and turned her head so they could look at each other. For a moment she just lay there looking into those hazel eyes and then she leaned closer to capture Quinn's upper lip between her own.

"Did you love me? Back then, when we were just dreaming kids, did you love me?" Rachel asked, staring directly at her.

Quinn bit her inner cheek. She never said it out loud back then, not to Rachel, and she never openly admitted it, not even to herself.

"Yes. But..."

Rachel placed a finger on her lips silencing her. Rachel kissed her cheek reassuringly, close to her ear. "From the moment we parted I wanted nothing more than to be with you again." She whispered.

"Why?" Her voice was low and uncertain "Like you said you don't want damaged property. And I'm damaged, Rach. I really am."

Rachel lifted her chin up so they could look each other in the eyes.

"You were listening."

"I was."

"Then you should know I said something else too: I said, I love you!"

She sealed her words with a sweet kiss on the lips and then reached for the drawer taking a simple gold ring. Rachel held it in mid air, looking at Quinn. It was their last day, and the first time she formally proposed: it was now or never, but Rachel didn't say a world, wanting Quinn to make the decision on her own.

The blonde bit her lip, her heart racing, pounding in her chest like never before. She was crazy, absolutely crazy, out of her mind, like San always said, she was throwing away everything. Everything. She lifted a trembling hand in the air, sliding her finger through the ring.

"I'm yours."

Quinn Fabray had been broken and claimed.

* * *

**This story has now a sequel, is called Raised and you will find it in my works if you like ;)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch, sorry guys, I forgot to update here :(((  
> Thanks to everyone who read it. I log in and I find a lot of new kudos to this story so... WOW!!! I'm glad you liked it and I hope that the last two chapters didn't disapoint you!
> 
> I think there is still something left to say about this world and this story, so I've started to write a sequel to this. I'm not sure if or when it will come out because I wanna make sure there is enough material for a plot and a whole story there, not just some scenes, but I have a couple of ideas that I would like to explore. Ideas about Raphael, the kind of relationship Britt and Santana have, and of course, I would like to see how Rachel and Quinn manage this slave/domme relationship since Quinn was never a slave in her heart.
> 
> If you have ideas, suggestion, comments, come find me on twitter (someone already did and I'm glad or I would have forgotten to update here...) I'm @eleanorambaldi and, guys, sorry again for the delay ;)


End file.
